Harry Potter and The Trickster's Gambit
by zArkham
Summary: After the fight in the DoM, Harry begins to realize that his fight against Voldemort isn't what it seemed. Indeed it's merely one part in a much larger war and that he is a chess piece to more than just Dumbledore. Of course finding out Lily only bore him but wasn't his actual mother just makes Harry's life even more interesting! (Lots of Norse Theology) No Ship at Present
1. On the Fields of Ragnarok

**DISCLAIMER THE FIRST: **_It is by JKR's writing alone I set my mind in motion. It is by the grace of coffee that thoughts acquire speed, the back acquires strains, the strains become a warning. The warning is that I make no money from this. It is by JKR's writing alone I set my mind in motion._

**PITHY STATEMENT RELATING TO THIS CHAPTER**: "_What the caterpillar calls the end of the world the master calls a butterfly_." **Richard Bach** – American writer (1937-)

**LAST UPDATED**: 02-09-2015

**XxXxX**

**TRIGGER WARNINGS: **This fic will explore the nature of gender and what does it mean to be male, female or both. If this makes you uncomfortable or your general squick level is low**: LEAVE NOW! **(This fic will sort of be a test-run for some ideas I have for my own original work) For those who do not heed this, I will have no trouble mocking you when you complain before I delete your reviews. Again, if you're one of those readers who identifies way to much with the POV character, this fic is probably not for you.

**STORY NOTES THE FIRST**: This fic replaces (for good) my previous fic of _Harry Potter and the Order of the Stag_. Consider that fic _dead_ and available only for historical reference on my Yahoo group

**STORY NOTES THE SECOND**: I realize a lot of you may be confused if you aren't up on your Norse theology. I will try to have a lot of info in my author's notes. However, there is a thing called Wikipedia and the like if you get confused about terms like the Nine Worlds or terms like Yggsdrasil. Or that the Ǽsir are the people of Asgard just as the Vanir are the people of Vanaheim.

**STORY NOTES THE THIRD**: While it may seem confusing, Loptur and Loki are the same being: The Trickster is a very gender unspecific being. Norse deities had many names and in the Trickster's case, over time when seen as male, he was referred to as Loptur (see author's notes below) and Loki when female. Also in this stories, what humans think of being such as the Ǽsir or the Vanir and what happened in the other Nine Realms and what actually happened are very different. So just because it's in the Eddas one way doesn't mean I'm writing like that's how it actually happened. For example, Ragnarok is known as an event when in "reality" it is a location. Again see A/N's for more info.

**XxXxX**

**CHAPTER ONE – ON THE FIELDS OF RAGNOROK**

**XxXxX**

**BEYOND SPACE – BEYOND TIME**

Mímir looked down into the scrying pool and sighed. He was able to do this because for the time he had manifested in a form capable of doing so. As time was measured to a cosmic being, he had been doing so more often. So much so that he had began to associated his nature as being masculine even though that concept really had no meaning to an entity like him.

There was something about being embodied which pleased him. Perhaps it was all the ways one could communicate with a mere sound or gesture. The soft sigh of exasperation was enough to speak his mind for him.

The other entity chuckled in response. Like himself, Völva was embodied in a similar form. While he could easily be passed for an aged sage, Völva could easily be mistaken for a crone.

Mímir frowned, "You find this funny?" He gestured to the images in the pool. Two vast hosts drawn from all around the Nine Worlds were fighting on the Fields of Ragnarok in Asgard.

Völva shook her head, "No. I only find it amusing how predictable you are. I know what you're thinking. This battle represents waste, lost opportunities and is another example of how untidy the universe is.

Mímir's frown turned to a scowl, "I am well aware of the need for Chaos. Unlike our brother Surtur, I understand the need for balance. What irritates me is this battle will have long lasting repercussions and Surtur will use it to once again cast down the way of things so as to return all to the primal Chaos. Why is it so difficult for him to accept the duality of existence and realize he will always be countered by our sister Ymir?"

Völva shrugged, "It may just be his nature. He is the embodiment of Chaos after all."

Mímir waved his hand dismissively, "Yes, yes but you don't see Ymir trying to bring everything in existence into perfect Order. Besides, it vexes me that our brother seems to think the rest of us are either stupid or blind to his machinations. Even if Bestla and I somehow missed the signs, I cannot calculate how he could ever get by you."

Völva smiled. A smile tinted with dark amusement, "Just so. I already have plans in motion. The Tapestry of Life has gotten rather muddled of late due to Surtur's constant prodding. This battle will at least lead to events that will hopefully bring things back into balance…at least for a while."

Mímir harrumphed at this. "If you can get the Ephemerals to cooperate. Mortals rarely act in the way you expect. Something I'm sure you are well aware of."

Völva chuckled again, "Oh my brother, you just have to know what carrots to offer and which sticks to use."

Both beings turned back to the pool and watched as the two armies fought. While both sides thought they knew what cause they were fighting for, in reality it was just another battle between Order and Chaos.

**XxXxX**

**THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC, LONDON, UK – JUNE 4****th**** 1996 – EVENING**

Harry's breath was ragged as he pushed himself racing after Bellatrix LeStrange. He paid little heed to the fact the chase had lead them out of the Department of Mysteries and back into the Ministry proper. His mind seethed with only one thought: revenge!

Bellatrix herself seemed to be unconcerned that he was intent on killing her in the most painful way he could think of. She seemed to alternate between singing some ditty to occasionally firing spells back at him which he easily dodged. Harry did not even hear what she would call back over her shoulder in her faux-baby talk. He did not care what she said; all that mattered is what she had done.

"_**Crucio**_!"

Bellatrix let out shriek as the spell hit her dead in the back. Unfortunately for Harry, the shock of his spell caused her to fall out of his sight down some steps. He quickly brought himself up short as he didn't want to run right into a spell as he rounded the corner.

"_**Hastae Gelus**__!_"

Harry ducked as an ice spear smashed into the wall behind him. He quickly banished the shards back from where the spell had come from. He was rewarded to hear a surprised cry of pain followed by retreating steps. "No," Harry thought, "there is no escape for you here."

He leapt around the corner and dodged back and forth before breaking into a run again. In moments his running feet had brought him to the Floo chamber Arthur had used to take him back to the Burrow after his hearing. Bellatrix surprisingly had not used one to escape. She was farther down in the main atrium in front of the Fountain of the Brethren.

She turned to face him with a demented smile, "Well Potty, this was some great play time but it's getting late. Time for Auntie Bell to put you down for a well deserved dirt nap! I do appreciate the love tap earlier but it's nothing compared to what my Dread Lord gives me when I've been a bad girl. You need to truly hate your target. Righteous anger isn't enough you silly, silly boy!"

While her voice was a mocking sing-song girly voice, her eyes held no innocence. The blue depths only held madness. Her wand was already up and twitching as if it was a dog eager to attack.

Harry felt a chill about him, a sense of detachment as his entire world shrank to encompass only Bellatrix. His own holly wand was out and he felt like the magic in it was practically begging to be unleashed. Yet for all his previous heat and thirst for revenge, now Harry felt as a cold and hard as the snow-topped peaks around Hogwarts. His entire being was focused on Bellatrix, his green eyes locked with hers. Blue eyes so similar to Sirius's eyes which Bellatrix had closed forever.

A quick look of surprise flitted across her face to rapidly be replaced by anger. Just like the other Death Eaters had at the graveyard, she seemed surprised he was holding his ground. Just like earlier in the Prophecy chamber, Harry noted how Death Eaters relied so much on their opponents being too terrified to defend themselves.

With a sneer, Bellatrix and her wand began to move. Harry didn't even hear what spell she was beginning to cast as he leapt into action. Harry knew he was lucky that Bellatrix was still weak from her time in Azkaban and thus had to verbalize her spells and still had a bit of a twitch to her hands. He intended to capitalize fully on his these flaws.

Diving to the right, he cast a cutting spell followed by some simple conjurations of glass pellets which he quickly banished towards her. Bellatrix's own sickly yellow spell had gone wide.

Harry's speed obviously had caught the older witch by surprise as she was unable to dodge quickly enough to avoid a gash on her left arm from Harry's cutter. The pellets missed but Harry had expected that. It didn't matter; he had plans for them.

Harry continued to dodge and weave as he continued to fire combinations of bludgeoners, cutters and the occasional stunner. As much as he would have like to ramp up the spells, he noticed Bellatrix preferred to stay stationary to cast the more complex spells. From Harry's D.A. experience, he knew this was ultimately foolish as a quick, easy spell could win a duel against a target who gave up the initiative.

Bellatrix quickly proved this by losing her temper and casting the Killing Curse. While the ultimate lethal spell, it took a bit to cast as it _had_ to be verbalized. Seeing his opportunity, Harry summoned a flock of grey wagtails which chirped madly before the green death snuffed them out while he wandlessly summoned the glass pellets he had managed to maneuver Bellatrix in front of.

Summoning was one of the few things Harry could do wandlessly. After casting a _lumos_ during the Dementor attack even though his wand was inches from his hand, Harry had tried his hand at wandless casting. Professor Flitwick had been happy to answer his questions and throughout the year Harry had learned to reliably summon objects. Harry credited Hermione's initial intensive burst of tutoring in 4th Year prior to the Fist Task for much of his summoning skill.

In this case since the pellets had been created from his own magic, it made summoning them that much easier. In addition, Harry purposely overpowered the spell. This caused the glass pellets to shatter as they smashed into Bellatrix's back. She fell to her knees with a keening shriek as the back of her robes with shredded with glass shrapnel.

An almost casual movement of his wand caused Bellatrix's wand to jump into his left hand. Harry quickly closed the distance between them as Bellatrix groaned and fell forward and began to bleed heavily onto the atrium floor.

"Well Trixie, it looks like you are the one in need of some nap time." Harry said mockingly. Bellatrix managed to look up and meet his gaze. His eyes hardened as his wand drew a bead between her eyes. "My only regret is Neville isn't here to watch you pay for your crimes. Before today I would have let him take revenge for his parents. Today? Today you are _**mine**__!_"

Bellatrix's eyes went wide as she looked up at into his fiery green eyes, eyes the color of the death curse itself. It was clear that even through her madness she recognized her own death was at hand.

Before he can begin a spell, his scar was a sudden blaze of pain. Biting back a scream, Harry leapt away from Bellatrix as a spell smashed into the stone floor where he had been only seconds before. As he rolled towards the dubious safety of one of the support columns, Harry saw what he dreaded to see.

Voldemort.

**XxXxX**

**THE FIELDS OF RAGNOROK, ASGARD – A LONG TIME AGO IN A REALM FAR, FAR AWAY**

Freya was almost tempted to smile as she saw Hildisvini jump at her twin brother like a dog. Seeing such a large boar act like a happy puppy should have made her happy but the day held little room for such innocent feelings. That her brother Frey had a mere quirk of the lips at the antics of her battle boar showed he too felt the weight of the fight they had won on his shoulders. Nothing worse than a battle lost than a battle bitterly won.

Frey's whole countenance showed this. His usual carefree air of nature running wild and free was muted. His demeanor matched that of the state of his gear. The resplendent armor, fashioned to mimic the sturdiness of the oak and the strength of the forest bear, was battered, broken in places and covered in the blood of many fallen foes. Of course while she herself had only joined in battle briefly during the fight, Freya's own armor was similarly damaged.

"It pleases me that this little piglet survived. And your cats as well," Frey said as he ran his hands along Hildisvini's back, scratching his dense, wiry fur. As a God of the wilds, it seemed natural that he would speak first of animals and not the loss of so many of what had started out as a vast host of warriors from all over the Nine Realms.

Freya did not reply immediately. She gave the reins to Göndul, her Valkyrie battle companion who was skilled more with a wand than with a spear before dismounting. She went to the head of her chariot and scratched both the giant lynxes behind their ears. She closed her eyes as both began to purr with a sound like that of a mighty flowing river filled with ice flows.

Freya wished for nothing more than to be back in her palace of Sessrumnir, curled up with them before a roaring fire, lulled to sleep by their contented rumblings. Her duties of Queen weighed heavily upon her and she knew it would be a long time before she could take off her crown and cast off her duties and truly rest.

Freya opened her eyes and looked around at the surrounding activities. Her brother seemed to have everything in hand. As lusty and often mischievously capricious as his moods were, on the battlefield Frey was as efficient as he was deadly. Thankfully this extended to the after battle duties as well.

"Everything seems in order here, my brother. You have my thanks," Freya said as she walked up to him and laid her hands upon his shoulders.

Frey bowed his head so that their foreheads touched, "For you my sister, my twin, my Queen, anything." He broke away from her and ran a bandaged hand through his wild hair, "Of course duty and all but the Fallen deserve no less. Rán's tears! So many dead, so many sent to Helheim before their time. Your Valkyries will be hard put to find all those who have earned Valhalla among such a slaughter as this."

"Yes, the All-Father's shade has much to answer for," Freya said as she watched one of Frey's generals direct where the bodies of the fallen were to be taken. She also noted her brother was correct as she could see that many of her Valkyrie had return to their normal task of shepherding the dead. The battlefield was thick with shades who had not registered yet that they were dead. Indeed some parts of the battlefield still rang out with the clash of arms as the dead continued to fight on, not realizing they had shed their bodies in death.

"What now, my Queen? It's not like we can all go back home and feast and drink like days gone by. The Nine Realms are in disarray; I can _feel_ it. The woods whisper fearfully, the lark and the rabbit worry for the future and even the bear and wolverine are filled with fear. Only the ravens seem unaffected and why not? They have a glut of the dead to feast on," Frey said with rare disquiet.

"Finish up here my dear brother. Treat this as we would any other battle. Honor our fallen. Bind up our wounds and send the grievously hurt to the healer halls. Mete out justice to those who fought dishonorably. Watch our prisoners and clear the field. Then yes, my brother, take our host back and feast. Celebrate we are alive and toast all who did not return. It best we keep to our traditions while we can. The forest, plains and hills are right to feel worried. Odin challenged the very way of things and now there is chaos," Freya said with the soft commanding tone she used when giving orders to other Gods.

Frey nodded, "Aye, Surtur must be pleased this day even if his traditionally aligned allies were the ones to fall the hardest. Who knows how long it will be before Ymir can work her way and bring back Order back to the Nine Realms? One can almost feel grateful that the Bifrost is broken otherwise even far-seeing Heimdall would have trouble knowing what could be seeping from one realm into another!"

Freya scowled, "I shall leave Surtur and Ymir to keeping the balance between Chaos and Order. I have a kingdom to rule and now, I fear, that needs must that I rule over the Ǽsir as well. Dark days ahead, my brother. Dark days indeed."

Frey shrugged, "Perhaps. Yet always remember my Queen that the ugliness of the forest fire brings forth new life in new ways. I do not envy you your task but know this, my sister. The All-Father has brought us low but now you have the chance to put it right. You know my mind. I would have had you ruling the Ǽsir back when we broke them after they foolishly made war upon us. Now they are hobbled again; now they have been brought low by their arrogance. Now perhaps, those pride-filled children will grow up and finally accept their place as but one of the Nine Realm's people and not the center the rest of us supposedly revolved around."

Before Freya could reply, horns began to sound. Frey shook his head, "Ah prisoners coming." He bowed correctly (if with a bit of a mocking air) to Freya, "My sister, my twin, my Queen; my duty calls."

"Fare thee well, my brother, my twin, Lord of the Wilds. See this out as I go to sort out our future," Freya said before kissing her brother's cheek. The two stared into each other's eyes for a moment before turning away to their tasks.

**OoOoO**

Freya did not know if the small rising had a name but it had been from this slight elevated spot that she had spent much of the battle directing her host. From here she had made forays to support her troops, to bolster their morale or help push a break in the enemy lines. Sometimes she had entered the fray with sword and spear and other times she aided her battle witches using the potent feminine _seiᵭr_ magicks which even the magically powerful Odin had coveted.

Yet always she had returned to the rise for it was here her Völvan seers cast their Sight about. Named after Völva, the Goddess of Magic and Fate herself, their gaze brought forth hints of how the battle would go allowing her to direct her generals towards weak spots before they even formed in the enemy lines.

Even now as Freya's chariot made its way up the worn, winding path, she could see clumps of witches still in the throes of a Seeing. Freya had learned long ago that a battle did not stop when the last sword was sheathed. Too many wars had been lost in the subsequent peace.

As she passed, warriors from the remains of the once vast, assembled host raised their arms or weapons in tribute to her. None called out. None gave out the normal boasting and cheers one would expect. Her warriors and allied troops had taken to heart her words to them before the battle had begun. This had not been a battle for honor or glory. It was a task as necessary (and heart-breaking) as putting down a horse with a broken leg. It had been merely something which had to be done regardless of the cost.

So except for the barking of orders, the cries of the wounded and other such noises, the fields of Ragnarok were strangely quiet as if all of Asgard was holding its breath. Freya wondered if this was being felt in her own realm of Vanaheim as well? While the battle had been in Asgard, the combatants had come from all the Nine Realms. Now all of the realms except for Helheim were left with fewer to see the now setting sun. A sun which seemed like a giant blood-red eye glaring down through the smoke of the many fires which still burned throughout the fields of Ragnarok.

A soft word to Göndul directed them to where she had overseen the battle. She could see Heimdall remained in the spot he had spent most of the battle. Her Völvan might see the future but none could see as clearly in _the now_ as far-seeing Heimdall the Sentinel could. She idly wondered what he would do while the Bifrost slowly reformed. He had held his post for so long it was like he had become as part of the firmament like the moon or sun.

As her chariot came to a stop, Freya wearily took off her battered helm. One of her Valkyrie took it before stepping back to join her elite sisters who had been tasked to guard the Vanir queen during the battle. Her two surviving generals looked at their queen for guidance but only saw fatigue and sorrow.

As Freya made her way to confer with her generals, a flutter of wings distracted her. She noted two large ravens, both whose beaks still were spattered with blood land on the cross beam of her battle standard. The glint in their eyes seem to be weighing what to do.

Freya chuckled and stretched out both arms. "Come down and greet your new queen. One such as you two should not be without a master. I shall be a good mistress to you if you give me your loyalty."

Odin's one-time ravens Hugin and Munin paused before finally flying down to land on her arms. Their talons causing sparks to come off her once gleaming armor. The ravens continued to look at the Vanir Queen. One might think they were glaring in anger but Freya knew they were hungry to fly and spy. It was in their natures.

"Yes, my little dark ones, I have a task for you. With so much chaos, even far-seeing Heimdall will find it difficult to see everything. Even with the Bifrost broken as my brother said, things still might drift to where they shouldn't. Fly now and watch the approaches to Midgard. It is there that travelers are most likely to go. The people of Midgard are ill-prepared for another incursion from the likes of the Jötun fleeing our spears."

With a piercing caw, both ravens took flight and where quickly lost from view. Freya watched the skies for a moment before looking over to where her generals stood. Both shook their heads at Freya cocking her head slightly to the side with a rising of an eyebrow. Freya nodded with a small smile. It seemed nothing needed her immediate attention.

So she turned and made her way to where Heimdall stood as still as a figure carved out of stone. As she came up to his side, he didn't look at her or acknowledge his Queen in anyway. Other monarchs might have been upset by this lack of respect but Freya knew Heimdall meant no disrespect. He knew when silence was the best response.

The silence was appreciated and for a long time the Freya just stared out over fields which yesterday had been filled with life. Now it was a carnage pit filled with all manner of dead or the dying. So very few had escaped their fate.

Fate. Freya laughed bitterly at this thought.

"My Queen, what makes you laugh?" Heimdall asked.

There was no reverence or deference in his tone. No sense of disquiet at her laughing at the ghastly scene before them. Just a simple direct question. That was Heimdall's way. It was one of the traits Freya liked most about him.

"I laugh Heimdall at the thought of how bards will surely sing how so many met their fate today. I laugh because of the absurdity of that because today was avoidable. It did not have to be this way. The Norns are content to see that the balance of life swings one way for a time and then back the other. It is the way of things. Trying to change this immutable fact of existence is what brought us here today."

Heimdall made a slight nod at this but said nothing. While direct, Heimdall rarely spoke his own mind. He was, Freya knew, the Sentinel. He was the silent watcher; the one oath-bound to watch and engage only when the boundary he guarded was crossed.

"You should be well aware of what I speak given how you were fated to be slain by Loptur on this battlefield," Freya said with a slight smile.

"Or perhaps by Loki. Changeling or not, the Trickster seemed like brother and sister joined as one. Similar yet different. Indeed I had always felt it would be Loki who would be my bane for I know well the power of a mother's grief. While as Loptur he fathered those such as Fenrir, it always seemed to me that Loki was more a mother to him," Heimdall said in a rare burst of words.

Freya nodded as she turned back to the battlefield. Giant Jötun bodies littered the field but even they were dwarfed by such corpses as Fenrir the Wolf or Jörmungand the World Serpent. While Thor had slain Jörmungand (and apparently been slain in turn although the Thunder God's body had yet to be found) Fenrir had been slain by Heimdall after the giant wolf-son of Loptur had killed Odin. She could understand how Heimdall could see a father/mother's rage at seeing one's children slain could empower the will to kill. Even the All-Father knew to fear such rage.

All-Father! Again Freya laughed. "Oh Odin, Fenrir might have been your ultimate end but your arrogance is what killed you. It is what has brought the Ǽsir down before their time. I warned you so long ago and you did not listen! You gave up your eye to Mímir to gain wisdom and yet you still did not heed me! You saw the signs but you ignore those which you did not agree with and lectured me, _**me**_ the Queen of the Völvan, on divination! So you plotted, you schemed and you tried to out-fox the Norns. Now Asgard is in ruins, your people are scattered and for what? For your lack of acceptance!"

"Acceptance, my Queen?" Heimdall asked quietly.

Freya laughed again but it was more of the laugh one does else one would cry. "Odin could not accept many basic truths. He began to believe his title of All Father. An arrogant and untrue title to begin with but it made him forget there were other powers, beings much more powerful than he, and they had their own plans. Moreover he could not accept the simple fact that for everything he did, for all the glory of Asgard he built, it would someday fade. He could not accept that basic truth that all things must live and someday die."

Heimdall nodded at this. For millennia this birth to death to rebirth cycle had played out before his watchful eyes.

Freya made an encompassing swipe of her arm to take in the entirety of the battlefield. "This should not have happened today. This is the results of challenging the slow tapestry of life that the Norns weave. We all are part of something larger and to thinking one can challenge that is like the river rebelling that it must flow into the ocean. Odin could not accept one day all his works would be in ruins."

"Or more properly Odin could not accept that such ruin was necessary. Yes, the All-Father never saw how much the caterpillar's life had to end for the butterfly to exist," Heimdall said musingly.

Freya clapped a gauntleted hand onto Heimdall's armored shoulder, "Exactly! The Ǽsir were to full of themselves. Even after our war long ago when it is was _they_ who sued for peace, they continued to be pride filled and headstrong. They challenged the Norns and now it falls to us, the Vanir, to shepherd the remains of the Ǽsir back to the path Odin should have been content with."

Freya turned to her generals and ordered a headcount of the surviving Ǽsir be completed as quickly as possible. She hoped Thor was still alive and only wounded and still to be found on the vast battlefield. As much as Odin had filled his son with the same headstrong pride of the Ǽsir, he still was the son of Jörd, the Avatar of Earth. It saddened her that Frigga had been slain early in the day. She would have been a good Queen to her shattered people. As it stood now, there was only one prince of Asgard known to be alive.

The Trickster Loptur. Or Loki depending on her mood. One never knew with the bastard child of the frost giant Queen Laufey and Hálogi the Avatar of Fire. Who would have thought such a union would produce such a dual being as Loptur or Loki? Was it any wonder the frost giant King Fárbauti had unloaded the child upon Odin as part of a peace treaty from one of their many wars?

Freya ground her teeth in frustration. If only the now dead Jötun king had given her the child all of this might have been avoided! She would not have judged the child unlike the pride filled Ǽsir! The Vanir would have celebrated the Trickster special gifts! She knew one such as Odin would not end up in Helheim but she wished just this once for an exception. Freya felt dark Hel, Loptur's daughter, would help demonstrate into Odin's very undead flesh the pain he inflected with his lack of parental care.

Three princes from three different mothers. Two knew their true parents; one lied to about his parentage which lead to a resentment which grew to rage. A rage which had finally led them all to this battlefield. All of it Odin had done for the supposed Greater Good! Each prince thought they might become the eventual ruler of Asgard. Yet in truth Odin had always favored Baldur with the idea that Thor would be the protector of Midgard. And Loptur? Who knew what lies Odin had fed the changeling or what plans the All-Father had for the mercurial one?

Freya looked out over the battlefield again and scowled. Yet even as he had promised the three princes the throne, Odin in the end had gambled and lost so as to never have to give it up. Now it fell to her to pick up the pieces so the cycle could begin again.

**XxXxX**

**THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC, LONDON, UK – JUNE 4****th**** 1996 – EVENING**

Even though he couldn't see him from behind the pillar, his curse scar gave Harry a very good idea exactly where Voldemort was. Knowing his own meager repertoire wouldn't do versus the Dark Lord, Harry figured his only chance was to distract and delay him. So he banished Bellatrix towards where he was sure Voldemort was and then quickly darted to another column.

The decorative bronze relief over each of the floo entrances gave Harry enough of a reflection to see the hazy image of the Dark Lord catching Bellatrix with a flick of his wand. Another flick and she was tossed her into one of the Floo entrances which flashed into green flames as she disappeared. So much for that being any sort of delay!

Voldemort didn't seem to see the need to come after him as he stood his ground and laughed. It was a hollow, mocking laugh. "Why Harry, how thoughtful of you to return my favorite witch to me! Perhaps you are not as ill-mannered as I thought you to be when we met back at the graveyard,"

Harry watched as Voldemort continued to be content to smile and wait for Harry to make a move. It was obvious the Dark Lord did not feel in any danger. Yet how long had the duel with Bellatrix lasted? Shouldn't others from the Order be arriving any second now? That and where in Merlin's name was the Ministry's security? He needed to draw this out until help could arrive.

"Well, Tom, I must say your idea of hospitality is a bit on the brusque side. Don't expect me to attend any of your tea parties any time soon." Harry tried to keep his voice level and unafraid. He wanted to feed Riddle's ego and hope he could keep him talking and not tossing spells.

"Give me the prophecy Potter and we can all be home for some tea before bed," the Dark Lord mocked in return. "I've wasted enough time on this." Voldemort said with sudden ice in his voice.

The prophecy! It suddenly came roaring back to him what the prophecy had said after it had been smashed. Harry had been close enough to make out what the ghostly Trelawney had said but Sirius' death had shocked him enough to make him forget. It didn't help that the prophecy hadn't predicted some future fight between him and Riddle but that Dumbledore himself wasn't the goodly wizard everyone thought he was. From the prophecy it was apparent he was working at cross-purposes with Harry!

Harry stood and tried to gather his wits. Voldemort seemed to sense Harry's mind was seething and raised his wand. Harry quickly called out, "I don't think you'd believe me if I told you the prophecy was smashed, would you? That and the fact the prophecy I heard before it was destroyed is different from the partial prophecy I know you heard from Snape."

Voldemort's snake-like eyes narrowed. "What lies are these?" he demanded.

Harry stepped out from behind the column, his previous plan to stall forgotten. Harry met Voldemort's angry gaze unafraid. "No lies, the prophecy said that a Champion would stand between two wizards. Seems pretty obvious that that means you and Dumbledore. Yet from this prophecy it seems the Headmaster has been using me for his own ends. It was nothing like the prophecy you heard and I found out about. There was nothing in it that pointed to us having to fight."

The Dark Lord's face was an immobile mask but Harry could tell his mind was whirling at the implications of what he had said. For a moment the two simply stared at each other until the sounds of running feet could finally be heard in the distance.

"I hope you don't mind if I say I'm glad we won't have time to have another duel, Tom," Harry said. "While I still owe you for killing my parents and generally being a murderous bastard, I need to figure out why the supposed Dark Lord I'm was sled to believe I was fated to kill seems secondary to the evil wizard which turns out to be my Headmaster."

"Harry Potter…you are so naïve to think that I need to duel you to get what I need. My faithful servant has already laid open the way. _**Lectiomens Extimus!**_" Voldemort cried out as his eyes flashed with magical power.

Harry gave a choked cry as he desperately tried to look away but failed. In front of him, Voldemort's form faded and went transparent even though his eyes continued to burn with power. Yet while Harry could still see him, Voldemort was also there in his mind!

Harry gave out a terrible cry and everything went black.

**XxXxX**

**SURTSHELLIR, MÜSPELHEIM – A LONG TIME AGO IN A REALM FAR, FAR AWAY**

Surtur was pleased.

He stood on the tallest tower of his palace and smiled. Of course tallest and standing were relative concepts in Müspelheim given how laws were obeyed more often in the breach. This was to be expected in the realm of chaos. Energy gleamed from the very rocks and clouds of fire floated on fiery winds.

Yet even as Surtshellir slowly shifted and changed under his feet, Surtur kept his gaze upon the ghostly form of Yggsdrasil. Few could see the World Tree, that which connected all things in the Nine Worlds. But Surtur was a primordial being and there was little he could not do.

Except even he was constrained by the way of things. He wasn't the only being of power with plans and schemes. Yet Surtur was content. Chaos was ascendant and thus he could set forces in motion while his sister-foe Ymir worked to bring balance back. Surtur expected this for he knew this was how things were.

Yet Surtur still schemed for the day when he would be victorious. Order came out of Chaos and Surtur knew, he _felt_ it at the very core of his being, that one day Chaos would swallow all again. So while so many of his followers lay dead upon the fields of far off Ragnarok, Surtur was already looking towards the next battle.

Now was the time to send a minion to Midgard. So often seen as the least of the Nine Worlds, Surtur knew it was often that realm which so many plots of the lesser gods played out. Now it was his turn to stir the pot. A whisper of dark knowledge into the right ears and a way to confound death would be born.

Surtur's chuckle sounded like a volcano clearing its throat. Surtshellir was filled with its echo and many minions cringed at the sound. That which Surtur found amusing usually meant ill for others.

A snap of his fingers brought his chosen underling to him. The being bowed low before looking up into his Lord's fiery gaze. His mission blazed into his mind as Surtur made his will manifest. With a nod, the being bowed again before disappearing.

Surtur turned his gaze back to Asgard. He easily found Heimdall with the Vanir Queen. He was sure they were planning on how to deal with the fallout from Odin's folly. Surtur had already given orders for the expected moves Freya likely was planning for with the Sentinel. Ymir would find it difficult to restore the balance but truly all of this had been part of a larger ploy of his.

Heimdall and Freya's Völvan needed to be removed from the board. The Völvan would be difficult given how Völva herself protected them in her own distracted way. Before they could fall, Heimdall's far-seeing gaze needed to be silenced. Prophecy had said the Sentinel

would meet his end via the Trickster. A fate which seemed unlikely now.

Surtur was patience. Time to him was not the slow, linear progression that those of Order were wedded to. His minion would set in motion a challenger to death. This would get Loptur's daughter Hel involved. This would eventually bring the Hálogison into the fray. Setting the battle on Midgard would involve powers who had vowed to protect it. With so many champions dead on the Fields of Ragnarok, who else but Heimdall would the Vanir Queen send?

Surtur hoped he could keep the Trickster alive. Prophecies were difficult to avoid yet easy to misunderstand. Heimdall was supposed to put down Loptur in their battle, but what of Loki? It might be that her male side might fall but she could live on to spread her own unique brand of chaos.

And with the Sentinel dead, the Völvan would have one less protector. Without Heimdall's eyes to see, Surtur's plots would be that much harder to detect. Without the seers, the lesser gods would be easy to maneuver into pathways of Surtur's choosing.

Surtur was patient but even so, the fiery one felt a shiver of anticipation that soon Order would be thrown down and the primordial chaos would reign again throughout all time and space.

**XxXxX**

**A/N**: As mentioned above, this is the rewrite of _Harry Potter and the Order of the Stag_. While I had put it on hiatus, in my heart I knew it was a dead fic. Bad enough it was split off from _Rejected Path_ but that it was always going to be a similar fic. Like a dolphin to _Rejected Path_'s shark. However a very, _very_ pernicious plot device came to me recently and I realized that instead of creating a new fic to use it, I could rejuvenate OotS. As much as I toyed with changing Hogwarts U to match this idea, I like what I've done with Samael in that fic so decided to keep it as it is. Moreover this fic returns me to the first story bunny of mine. (That being HP & The Ruins of Asgard) Plus there were a lot of elements in OotS I was never going to be able to use for _Rejected Path_ so I'm happy I can still use them.

**Names**: For this fic I will try to be as consistent as I can with the Norse names. While I might be inclined to use more "correct" versions such as Baldr or Loptr, I think the more common version like Baldur are easier to understand. Even so I will use names like Fenrir instead of Fenris because of the consistency with other names.

**Norse Canon vs. The Trickster's Gambit**: Throughout this story there will be things which contradict certain 'known' elements of Norse theology. The idea is that here on Midgard (as it were) we only got a "telephone game" version of the events which happened elsewhere in the Nine Worlds. As to be expected, the reality is different than the jumbled myths of Earth. Plus it doesn't help that in real life you have things like Marvel Comics mixing up that Laufey was the frost giant queen and not the king. Also dying in battle in this fic is not an instant pass into Valhalla. You have to really go all out heroic to get in.

**Magical Beings & Deities Introduced**: This fic will reference if not showcase many high order beings. They come in four tiers. The first tier is are primordial beings. Their children, the Jötunn, are similar in a sense to the Greek Titans. These two tiers are rather elemental in that they control very basic components of the universe like chaos, magic, fire for example. Tier Three beings are the beings we see the most often in Norse theology. The various "tribes" such as the Ǽsir (Asgardians), the Vanir, and giants considered "lesser Jötun" with only one n. Tier Four is for magical races which are often similar to Tier Three (usually through intermarriage) but are not on the level Tier Three Beings. Magicals on Earth would be considered Tier Four as would the goblins, dwarves, house elves and other "low elves" (contrasted with the "high" elves of Alfheim) trolls and such. The list below is not all conclusive. I will get around to putting a more complete list onto my Yahoo group one of these days.

**Tier One**  
>Mímir: Elemental God of Thought, Knowledge and Wisdom<p>

Völva: Elemental Goddess of Magic and Fate

Surtur: Elemental God of Energy and Chaos

Ymir: Elemental Goddess of Matter and Order. Unlike in 'canon' Ymir is not male being of ice but female.  
><span>Bestla<span>: Elemental Goddess of Life and Soul

**Tier Two (The Jötunn)**

Rán: Avatar of Water

Hálogi/Logi: Avatar of Fire. Father of Loptur/Loki. A metamorph who can be both male (Hálogi) or female (Logi)

Jörᵭ: Avatar of Earth and Thor's mother

Skadi: Avatar of Winter  
><span>The Norns<span>: Avatars of Fate. Urd (Maiden), Verdani (Mother) and Skald (Crone) together weave the Wyrd, the tapestry of life. While agents of Völva, they "work" for Surtur and Ymir in trying to keep a balance. Wyrd is not the same as Destiny. Choices which are made freely affect how events play out. One's Wyrd is seen as the factors one is born into and cannot change. While prophecy may takes some elements of free will away, they are points in time which affect the whole greatly.

**Tier Three**  
>Freya: Queen of the Vanir, leader of the Valkyries and twin to Frey. Often seen as the Goddess of Sex and Battle. (A Vanir)<p>

Frey: The Norse Green Man, lord of the Wilds. Twin brother of Freya (A Vanir)

Heimdall: The Sentinel; Guardian of the Bifrost (the Rainbow Bridge) He can see throughout the Nine Worlds (A Vanir)

Odin: The All-Father and King of Asgard. _Killed at the Battle of Ragnarok_ (An Ǽsir)

Frigga: Goddess of the Hearth and Home and Baldur's mother. _Killed at the Battle of Ragnarok_ (An Ǽsir)

Fárbauti: King of the Frost Giants. _Killed at the Battle of Ragnarok_ (A Jötun)

Laufey: Queen of the Frost Giants and mother of Loptur/Loki. _Killed at the Battle of Ragnarok_ (A Jötun)

Thor: God of Thunder, Prince of Asgard. _Missing after the Battle of Ragnarok_ (An Ǽsir "plus")

Baldur: God of Light. Prince of Asgard. _Killed at the Battle of Ragnarok_ (An Ǽsir)

Loptur/Loki: The Trickster. A metamorph who fathered and mothered many beings. Born to Hálogi and the Frost Giant Queen Laufey, Loptur was given to Odin as part of a peace treaty and raised thinking he was an Ǽsir and Prince of Asgard. (A Jötun "plus)

Angrboᵭa: Lover of Loptur. Mother of Fenrir, Hel and Jörmungand. A renown sorceress and enchanter. _Killed at the Battle of Ragnarok_ (A Jötun)

Fenrir: Giant Wolf destined to slay Odin. _Killed at the Battle of Ragnarok_ (A Lokiborn)

Jörmungand: The Midgard Serpent and father of many types of serpent-like dragons (the Wyrms) as well as basilisks. _Killed at the Battle of Ragnarok _(A Lokiborn)

Sleipnir: Eight-legged steed of Odin. Born of Svaᵭilfari, the Lord of Horses and Loki. _Killed at the Battle of Ragnarok _(A Lokiborn)

Hel: Queen of Helheim, the land of the dead. (Not to be confused with the more primordial Nifleheim) Creator of the Deathly Hallows. (A Lokiborn)

**Tier Four**

Göndul: Battle-witch companion to Queen Freya (A Valkyrie)  
>Giants like Gawp: The "lesser Jötun" are seen as Tier Three but the giants that travelled (and subsequently stranded) on Midgard (i.e. Earth) are barely considered Jötun anymore. Jötun use magic and are mostly as intelligent as any of the other races. On Earth, however, so much of their innate magic goes into keep them alive. Cut off from Jötunheim, their culture (and intellect) has suffered. All of this will be explained a bit more in detail later. Often times they are referred to as the Jötnar.<p> 


	2. Mind Games

**DISCLAIMER THE FIRST: **_It is by JKR's writing alone I set my mind in motion. It is by the grace of coffee that thoughts acquire speed, the back acquires strains, the strains become a warning. The warning is that I make no money from this. It is by JKR's writing alone I set my mind in motion._

**PITHY STATEMENT RELATING TO THIS CHAPTER**: "_You never let a serious crisis go to waste. And what I mean by that it's an opportunity to do things you think you could not do before_." **Rahm Emanuel** – American politician and first Jewish mayor of Chicago (1959-)

**LAST UPDATED**: 02-09-2015

**XxXxX**

**CHAPTER TWO – MIND GAMES**

**XxXxX**

**HARRY'S MINDSCAPE – JUNE 4****th**** 1996 – EVENING**

Harry's was falling in darkness. It was like what Harry thought it might feel like to fall into a

a deep well. Voldemort's sibilant laughter echoed all around him. Surprisingly this was joined by the laughter of the young Tom Riddle from the Chamber of Secrets. From down in the mental well he had fallen into, Harry looked up and could see both Riddle and Voldemort looking down at him. Surprisingly the young Riddle looked more complete and powerful while Voldemort seem rough and poorly made.

Harry struggled but he found himself bound in chains of fiery red energy which was anchored into his very flesh. Memories of going to church with the Dursleys came to him since he felt like he had a crown of thorns as well. Worse was something dripped into his eyes causing him to shriek in pain.

Voldemort called down to Harry who felt like he was sinking farther into the well of darkness. "You see Potter? There is more to magic than wands and incantations! For whatever reason we have this connection just means I own you Harry Potter! I shall strip you of every memory and take your magic and add it to my own. First I took your blood and now I shall take you memories, magic and then your very soul!"

Riddle gave a nasty laugh so at odds with his handsome face, "The odds were stacked against you Harry. I have been here for years and have seen it all through your eyes. The Old Man may have played me like a violin but in his hands, you have been his Stradivarius! You were defeated before you were born and you have lived in shackles of your own magic all this time! You were born merely to be a sacrifice. _Boy-Who-Lived_? Ha! You were always the _Boy-Destined-To-Die_!"

Harry sank deeper into darkness, the sounds of mocking laughter following him into the depths. All he could see was the glow of his chains, his prison…his magic? Riddle's words, did they mean his bindings where not something external but something forged out of some part of him?

A jumbled memory floated up from deep within him as again something dripped into his eyes, blinding him with pain.

Yet through the pain (worse than the Cruciatus!) the memory burned with its own inherent purity. Was it from yesterday? Weeks? Months? He was sad, something about Quidditch. Banned, yes he had been banned. Wandering, his left hand still burning. She was sitting against a tree. By the lake? Alone and reading. Luna. Those wide, cerulean blue eyes. Words, emotions, concern for his friend; images of stolen items. Why did she stand the teasing of her house?

"_Life is a trap of our own making if we allow it, Harry. Giving in to those girls would put me into their power. My belongings are not me; I shouldn't allow them to bind me._"

Those eyes! Even as another drip caused him to writhe in pain, those eyes haunted him. His painful struggles caused even more pain where the energy was embedded into his flesh. Even so the memory was clear.

Her words sounded like Truth. Was he trapped in a binding of his own making? Had he allowed himself to become likes this? The darkness seemed to swirl around him and even the laughter had faded. Harry used the memory of those cerulean eyes to clear his mind like he could never do for Snape. Luna's dreamy voice was his meditative chant as Harry cast himself into himself in search of answers.

Another painful drip brought forth a scream of unending pain but then Harry suddenly found himself on a roof in Surrey looking down on Albus Dumbledore in badly matched Muggle clothes who was looking back at him with a kindly smile on his face. Harry was 8 years old again.

"Well my boy, it seems we have a bit of a problem." Dumbledore called up to him.

Harry felt like he was back in Dumbledore's pensieve, as he could not help but watch as the memory unfolded. "I'm sorry sir, I didn't mean to climb up here but the bullies…"

Dumbledore laughed and cut the younger Harry off. "My dear boy, we both know you didn't climb up there. Let me get you down in a similar way." With that, Dumbledore took out his wand and gently summoned the flabbergasted 8-year-old Harry to the ground in front of him.

"Harry, you don't know me but I am sort of your fairy godfather. We try to look after special children like you. Someday you will get to travel to our magical kingdom and learn wondrous things. Would you like that?" Dumbledore asked with his eyes twinkling.

"Oh yes sir!" the younger Harry exclaimed while the older Harry watched behind his eyes.

"Of course you do! However, my boy, I am afraid there is a terrible problem which I shall I need your help with. We in the magical realm want you to come to us some day when you are older but you have been tainted by your evil relatives. They hate magic and put a curse on you. They knew we would come for you and if you went to our world, the curse will infect it like a cold and the magical world would get sick. Your evil relatives would laugh at how they could use their nephew to destroy such a wonderful magical world."

Young Harry's were wide and he had a lump in his throat, "Can you fix me?" The older version of Harry had a sense of impending dread. He felt he knew what was coming.

"Yes, my dear boy, if you want to come to our realm of magic and wonder, you have to allow me to fix your magic. If you allow it freely, I can make it so you are pure again. Just like a hero in the books I know you like to read. You will save our kingdom." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled even more as he leaned closer to the boy. "I know of many beautiful princesses who are waiting for you to be their hero. Will you be that hero?"

"Yes!" the young Harry agreed. Dumbledore smiled and his wand began an intricate set of movements and a brilliant flash of blue light cast Harry out of the memory.

Dumbledore

Harry lay in darkness, pain starting to eat at him even as the caustic whatever it was continued to drip into his eyes. Voldemort seemed to be making good on his threat to destroy his mind. Yet this pain was barely an annoyance as he thought of what he had just seen.

"_Life is a trap of our own making if we allow it, Harry_." Those knowing eyes had bored into him. Had Luna known? Did she live in a trap of her own and could see what Harry could not about himself?

Harry realized the chains that bound him, while placed there by the Old Man, were there by his own choice. Like inviting a vampire across the threshold made your wards useless, his acceptance had been what allowed the Headmaster to bind him.

In the darkness, with the pain only increasing, Harry began to remember, to see all of the little things over his life which did not add up. Things he had either brushed off or just did not want to deal with. How like a typical Gryffindor, Harry had rushed from one episode of danger to another, never thinking, never planning…never being the Slytherin the Sorting Hat had wanted him to be.

The memories washed over him and through him, threatening to drag him further into inaction and despair. Yet a memory came to him which rekindled the rage which had consumed him as he had chased Bellatrix from the chamber of the Veil of Death. In the heat of the fight, Harry had felt a spell pass over him, from somewhere behind him. The spell which Bellatrix had cast had missed; Sirius had dodged it and into the spell that came from behind. Someone in Dumbledore's Order had killed his godfather.

The darkness around Harry seemed to shudder and all around him the darkness began to lighten into a bluish-white color. Where before the darkness had been hot, hot like the fiery red chains binding him, now all Harry felt was bitter cold.

Indeed Harry found himself rapidly becoming covered with ice. But unlike the feeling of impending death the ice that preceding the Dementors on the Hogwarts Express had had, this ice felt like home. The ice felt like it was merely an extension of his self.

Long fettered, Harry's power awoke fully and began to push back against the darkness and pain. He had allowed himself to become unknowingly bound but now he knew. Now he could fight. His magic flared and the chains which bound him flickered before becoming covered with ice. A mental shove and they broke into ice shards which disappeared into the bluish gloom. Harry reached up and broke the crown which had kept old memories hidden.

"No, Dumbledore," Harry thought to himself, "I will not be the _hero_ you wanted me to be! I will not be your pawn! I will not be your sacrifice!"

Harry gathered himself, feeling his magical power seem to resonate like Fawkes' phoenix song. Yet Fawkes' song had always felt like an aria of fire. Harry's power felt like the wind over the snowy glacier ice on the mountains which ringed Hogwarts. Old ice, ancient ice. Ice with the power to grind down mountains and gouge out canyons.

The power sang like a fine ice crystal when tapped. It sang at being whole for the first time in almost 8 years. The darkness was fading as his aura flared colder and colder. Ice covered him like armor and through it Harry could feel where Voldemort was attacking his mind. For all that he was Slytherin; Voldemort's magic was like evil fire trying to burn out Harry's mind.

Harry willed himself to be elsewhere. He could see the mental images of Voldemort and Riddle chipping away at his life and reveling in the pain they must think they were causing. In a flash of power and fury and bluish-white light, the mocking laughs changed to screams of rage and pain.

Harry's eyes flew open. He was back in the atrium, Voldemort before him. The wizard was no longer transparent but was now covered in a thin layer of ice. Voldemort howled in pain and frustration but before he could raise his wand, wizards and witches started to leap out of the green flames of the Floo chambers and pour in from the atrium. With a snarl Voldemort disapparated; his silent passing once again a testament to his power considering the wards he had just breached.

Harry just stared at the spot where Voldemort had been as shouts rang out around him.

**XxXxX**

**THE FIELDS OF RAGNOROK, ASGARD – A LONG TIME AGO IN A REALM FAR, FAR AWAY**

For most, the long days and nights of travel across the Nine Realms in chaos would have etched fatigue into the very bones of the traveler. But Heimdall was not an ordinary being. His eyes missed little and thus knew the secret ways, the hidden paths and the long forgotten by-ways. After things had stabilized, the dead properly mourned and interned, he had led Queen Freya throughout the Nine Worlds to see up close what effect the battle of Ragnarok had had.

Now Queen Freya sat on her throne, hearing her court fill her in on their work even as Heimdall knew the Queen struggled with choices she must soon make. One of those decisions had brought him back to the fields of Ragnarok. Back to where Loptur Hálogison had been bound where he had fallen on that fateful day.

Even wounded and weak, it had taken a group of nine Völvan to watch him. Nine witches from Freya's elite battle witches maintained the wards which help contain him with powerful seiᵭr magic. Nine of Freya's personal guard kept watch in case the Trickster managed to somehow break free. This group was led by the still missing Thor's surviving son Magni. The Queen was taking the risk seriously given how just as Thor had unique powers from his mother Jörd, Loptur's had gifts from his father Hálogi. It made shackling him a difficult task.

Heimdall paused as he noticed a warrior woman keeping watch away from the rest attended only by a single man-servant. Her face was lined with pain. Heimdall debated with himself for a moment. For so long he had been the Sentinel. For so long he watched but did not participate. It was odd for him to have to weigh what he should or should not do. However, the grieving goddess deserved his words just as much as the Hálogison did.

"Sigyn," Heimdall said with a curt nod to the one-time leader of the Valkyrie elite. While a formidable fighter, terrifying in battle, it was Sigyn's forbearance and empathy which had led her to being held hostage to Loptur's ways as his wife. She had gone into the marriage with the dutiful air of a warrior marching into a battle she knew would be her last.

To the surprise of all but Freya, the marriage between Sigyn and Loptur had endured. Even in the later years when the Trickster was rarely seen except as Loki. If it was in his nature, Heimdall would have sneered at the memory of the whispers regarding Loki in Sigyn's bed. So typical of the Ǽsir to be wedded to such a dualistic world-view. Sigyn was Loki's wife as much as she was Loptur's. The Trickster could not be contained in the male form of Loptur or the female form of Loki. The Trickster just was and Sigyn obviously was loyal to both aspects of her mate.

"Heimdall. Come to gloat on cheating Fate?" Sigyn said with air of decorum her words sorely lacked.

"Not at all. Queen Freya is coming soon to render her judgement and I would have words with your husband before that. I would hope that you, regardless of your time among the Ǽsir, would understand I stand at the boundary of all things. I act when the boundary is crossed. Your husband crossed that boundary. It grieves me the _why _of it but I was oath-bound to act. We can only hope that our Lady Freya can put right what the All-Father rent asunder. I would not have Loptur meet his fate, whatever it may be, thinking I bore him ill will or rejoice in his overthrow," Heimdall said evenly.

Sigyn frowned. Heimdall was not sure if it was at hearing him speak so much or whether to believe him. Finally she shrugged. "Far be it for me to bar your way, Sentinel even if it were in my power. Go then and speak your mind. Perhaps my husband might even listen. Although I doubt it. His grief is matched only by his rage."

Heimdall nodded and left the Trickster's wife to her obvious grief. He walked towards the dome of ward energy. The elder of the nine Völvas easily divined his intent and a doorway opened into the dome.

Heimdall entered and was not surprised to find Loptur bound to a block of the blackest obsidian. The dwarven wrought chains looked to be remnants of the very ones which had once bound his son Fenrir. The sight angered him for some reason.

"It is not right for you to be bound in such chains, Loptur. It is an insult to your son's memory and to you as well," Heimdall said.

Loptur raised his head, his piercing green eyes, "Come now Heimdall, my fated foe of old. Whenever have I been treated fairly? Besides I am the Trickster and one cannot fault the Queen for being careful or for being frugal and using what tools are readily at hand."

Heimdall did not reply to this. He looked at Loptur. The Trickster's wounds had been bound and the grief and rage Sigyn spoke of were there lingering under the façade of ambivalence Loptur usually wore around him. As Loki, however, she had always been subtly biting in her comments. Today it felt to Heimdall that Loptur's face was channeling Loki's voice.

Yet what filled Heimdall with disquiet was Loptur's blue skin. In all his days, Heimdall could count on one hand the amount of times he had seen Loptur or Loki wear the blue skin of his mother's people. Even his wild signature raven hair was faded towards white and spiky like ice.

Had Loptur given himself up to his Jötun heritage? If so would this mean that perhaps they were still fated to slay one another in some future battle?

With a mental shrug, Heimdall dispelled such thoughts. As Queen Freya had said, life swung one way then the next. The future would arrive one day and worrying about it brought nothing but pain. Odin's actions had proven it and had shaken the foundations of the Nine World in the process.

"Loptur, as I have said, my lady the Queen Freya is coming to pass judgement upon you. Together we have travelled the width and breadth of the Nine Worlds. I have cast my gaze into the brightest deserts and darkest oceans. From highest peak to lowest pit, your fight with Odin has done great damage. While I understand much of what drove you, I fear that Queen Freya may feel forbearance is not the best choice for the realm."

Loptur laughed bitterly. "Forbearance! Ha! That is my loyal wife's dominion. No, I expect no mercy from the Queen of the Vanir. I do not blame her. She is acting as a ruler should. Where are the Ǽsir now? Scattered and lost! Where is my father? My _**real**_ father? Probably as disconnected as my wretched brother Thor's mother! The Nine Worlds were aflame and yet where were the Elders? Their children were running around like a foxes in the hen house and yet nothing was heard from them. So let your lady come! She at the very least is taking action which is more than what could be said for the Elders. I, for my part, do not care that she comes. The trick is on the Trickster this time. Unlike my unlamented foster-father Odin, I have no delusions regarding my future."

"Well said Trickster. As I told your wife, I bear you no ill will. I did what I was oath bound to do. Yet it pained me to put down your son Fenrir. It pained me to see your son Sleipnir die in agony. Even Jörmungand's passing fills me with sorrow for were they truly monsters or only just in the minds of the Ǽsir? Given how little freedom they had, who can truly say?"

Loptur grunted but Heimdall couldn't tell if it was acceptance or dismissal. "I guard the boundary. I am the Sentinel who watches and warns. At times this burden is heavy to see such things and not be able to speak out." Heimdall said wearily.

Loptur sneered, "Ah the silent one finally speaks his mind! Only now when the ancient harmonies are in disarray. You lack of ill will is of no consequence to me! Mayhap we are still fated to be each other's bane. I hope not for being slain by such a dour being as you would be a sad thing. Or is that my fate? The Trickster felled by the one who refuses to laugh? Away with you! Your all-seeing gaze is heavy upon my wounded flesh!"

Heimdall gave a curt nod and left leaving the Trickster to alternate between grief over his lost children and rage against his foster father.

**XxXxX**

**THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC, LONDON, UK – JUNE 4****th**** 1996 – EVENING**

Shouts filled the atrium as it filled with people yet Harry just stood there amidst it all. Like Voldemort, Harry was covered in ice. Indeed most of the floor of the chamber was now covered in it and already people where beginning to skid and fall on it.

"Merlin! Harry you're blue!"

Harry barely heard Remus's cry nor did he felt the werewolf's hand on his shoulder before it had been jerked away in surprise at the cold coming off his body. Harry's whole universe was centered on the wizard who was approaching with a clearly agitated Cornelius Fudge.

Dumbledore!

Harry struggled to come back to himself. He still felt as if he was bursting with power from the inside out and yet he felt as if he was inside the strongest fortress ever built, blocking everything out. He stood there mutely even as an auror took Bellatrix's wand from him. He did nothing as a witch muttered to herself as she cast a few charms at him. A small part of him realized she was probably a medi-witch.

Her comments did make him look at his hands. While still blue, they were rapidly fading back to the pasty complexion he had always had. No matter how much sun he got, Harry had always been resolutely pale.

The medi-witch continued to check him while Remus kept asking questions Harry ignored. He merely watched as Dumbledore who finally turned from the Minister (who continued to rant regardless) and said something Harry couldn't hear to Remus. Whatever it had been, the werewolf who left quickly.

Harry didn't care. He might have been a stone statute as the Minister continued to yell at the Headmaster. Finally after what seemed like hours, he was able to make himself to pay attention to whatever Fudge was talking to Dumbledore about.

"Albus, I don't care! We simply cannot allow the news of Lord…Thingy returning to get out! Not only would it cause a panic but it would also make the Ministry look terrible. In trying times like these, the people of Britain need to feel their government is on top of things!" Fudge said while mopping his brow with a silk, monogrammed handkerchief.

"My dear Cornelius, if you had heeded my warnings of last year then the Ministry could have spared itself any hint of embarrassment. I do agree that we must quickly contain this situation. Events have gotten out of hand and I must insist my students be taken back to Hogwarts to be treated. I can protect them there and there will be fewer questions than what we can expect at St. Mungo's. I am certain you will want the press kept away and I cannot do that without returning them to Hogwarts," Dumbledore said. His voice was calm in stark counterpoint to the excitement around them.

"Yes, of course…wait. Hogwarts? I expect you think I will just have you reinstated after your obvious plots against me?" Fudge thundered.

Dumbledore gaze pierced Fudge's eyes; his blustery tirade quickly faded. "I think it most obvious the so called "Dumbledore's Army" was doing exactly what I had planned for them to do: to prepare for a fight with Voldemort since you seemed unwilling to do so. In fact, Cornelius, the people of Britain might be a bit curious how a group of students could not only enter the Ministry after hours but also penetrate the Department of Mysteries to be further met by a group of Death Eaters. In light of such a serious security breach, I would think you would be wise to hope for the Daily Prophet to dwell more on my reinstatement then what your administration allowed to happen here tonight."

Harry could see Fudge knew he was beaten. Worse was the proof in the form of what looked like Crabbe and Goyle Seniors being hauled through the Floo by aurors. Having two heads of old pureblood families in custody would cause a firestorm. This finally awoke Harry into action.

"What about my friends? I know at least three of them were injured to say nothing of my godfather being killed." Harry asked; his voice still somewhat wooden.

Both Dumbledore and Fudge seemed to have forgotten that Harry had been there the entire time. Dumbledore recovered quicker, "Ah, Harry my boy, let me assure you that your friends are fine although I do fear Miss Granger will have a bit of a hard road to recovery ahead of her."

Harry nodded numbly. Internally he was filled with worry for his friend but it felt like none of it could penetrate the outer wall of disinterest which seemed to surround him. It was almost like the ice which had quickly disappeared was still there, just under the skin.

Dumbledore looked a bit taken back by Harry's lack of reaction. "Are you alright, my boy?" he asked as he drew closer, his eyes locking onto Harry's. Almost immediately, Harry felt a push into his mind. With a mere narrowing of eyes, Harry stared back as his previously weak mental walls hardened into a featureless, impenetrable glacier wall. Dumbledore seemed to push but Harry simply continued to stare at the old man feeling the probe fail to gain even a foothold on his mental fortress' walls.

Harry wasn't sure how this was. He knew from his so-called lessons with Snape that the best way to defend against a lectiomension attack was to break eye contact. Harry knew without a doubt that Dumbledore was trying to violate his mind, to read what was there. Harry certainly didn't know from where this new mental fortress had come from. However, he couldn't help but to continue to stare into the old man's eyes, daring him to try and break down his mental shield.

Dumbledore blinked and gave himself a bit of a shake. Clapping Harry on the shoulder as he turned to Fudge, "Minister I think it best if I take Harry back and check on the students which have already been sent there. I can then return and we will be able to go forward with how to deal with these sad events. As you so rightfully said, the people of Britain are depending upon us to uphold the Greater Good."

Beaten or not, Fudge didn't seem willing to let it go at that and he started back in on Dumbledore. Harry had again tuned him out so he barely heard the rant. 'The Greater Good' that phrase seemed like a knife thrust into Harry's gut. The words of the true prophecy came back to him. He remembered the ghostly vision of Trelawney standing in front of Dumbledore's desk and speaking in her deep prophecy voice.

_Into deception a Champion is born as the seven month dies; Ancient power is awakened_

_Marked by Fate and put into Hero's clothes, the Champion will be basely used for the Greater Good_

_Two Dark wizards oppose the Champion. One filled with hate; One filled with dangerous dreams. All three are bound in life and death._

_But the Trickster's Gambit will make fools of all in the face of the Champion born as the seventh month died_

From the date on the prophecy he had seen earlier, Harry knew it had been made prior to his own birth. This meant Dumbledore had to have known that both he and Neville could have been the 'Champion' of the prophecy. Both there were other troubling aspects to the prophecy.

In the vision Harry had seen, Trelawney had made her prophecy to Dumbledore in his office. Why did the Snape's memories he had accidentally seen from Snape's own mind had him hearing her give a different prophecy at the Three Broomsticks? Moreover, it couldn't have been a real prophecy because it had not been recorded at the Department of Mysteries. That meant Dumbledore had faked it with the intent of having Snape overhear it knowing Voldemort would strike at his parents and Neville's. Had Dumbledore done this simply to find out which one was the Champion?

Harry thought back to his newly remembered encounter with Dumbledore when he was eight. He had kept calling Harry a hero; it was obvious that by then he must have felt Harry was the Champion of the prophecy. Given the amount of Boy-Who-Lived information (almost all of it wrong) which had come out since Voldemort's defeat, it seemed obvious now that Dumbledore must have been the one pushing it.

Was Dumbledore realize he was the dark wizard with the dangerous dreams? Would he even conceive of himself that way? Or was there another wizard out there Harry had yet to see. For his part he was okay with the concept of Dumbledore being the one mentioned in the prophecy given how he had tricked Harry into having his magic bound.

Was this prophecy why the Headmaster had never really answered any of his questions Harry had been asking since the waking up in the infirmary after defeating Voldemort's attempt to steal the Philosopher's Stone? Was it why he had slung Harry back to the Dursley and kept him in the dark.

The flood of memories which had filled Harry had brought up so many questions that he needed to confront and soon. He needed time to think.

Dumbledore's, "Harry; prepare yourself" called him back as the old wizard took his arm as a clearly enraged Fudge stalked off, yelling to some aurors. Suddenly Harry felt like he was being squished through a tube only to find himself in the infirmary at Hogwarts.

Harry couldn't help but sigh. Every year it was the same. He always ended up in the infirmary.

**XxXxX**

**THE FIELDS OF RAGNOROK, ASGARD – A LONG TIME AGO IN A REALM FAR, FAR AWAY**

"Ah Loptur, trickster son to the mercurial fire. What should I do with you?" Freya asked softly as if to herself. She was tired. The long trek through the Nine Realms followed by her court clamoring for directions and orders she often had little more than a feeling was the right course of action had drained her. The last place she wanted to do was return to Ragnarok Fields but Loptur's fate had to be dealt with quickly.

Loptur raised his head but unlike with Heimdall, there was no defiance, grief or rage behind the brilliant green eyes. Only ennui as if his fate was of no consequence and he was bored with his very existence.

"Chop me up and sow me in fallow fields. Hack up my flesh and feed the Nargles, Burn me and scatter my ashes into winds so that I might always roam the Nine Worlds. Heh! Maybe even transform me into a broom and have your lowliest servant use me to wipe up the dirt from your Vanir boots. It matters not to me," Loptur said with boredom dripping from his normally honey-tongue.

Freya smiled sadly as a mother might do at the words of a disobedient child, "Oh Loptur, you have suffered so much. Would it surprise you to know how sad it made me to see you that day in your green battle armor? To see your horned helmet as you held aloft your wolf-head battle flag? How I had hoped that perhaps that day, that battle it would have been the fiery red armor of Loki who held aloft the wolf standard? For I had hoped Loki might have, at the last, seen reason and not fallen into the sad folly of a son rebelling against their father's plans."

Loptur's eyes flashed. "Odin was _never_ my father nor am I his son…or daughter for that matter. Oh the All-Father might have played the part but it was always a just role the he put on like a cloak when it suited him. A role he played so well even to my step-brother Thor! No, Odin only played the father to bright Baldur. And where has that fatherly love gone to? Wrapped in the burial clothes and bound for the crypts of Valhalla, that's where! No, my Lady, only Frigga could reasonably be called a parent to me…and she's gone with all the rest."

"All of Odin's sons have fallen except you just as dark Hel is the only child left of your get. So much waste. So much lost potential. And now, as Queen, I must squander more of it. Alas, dear Loptur, as much as I wish to release you and let the Trickster run free to confound the realm as you should, forces are against us both," Freya said sadly.

Loptur surprised Freya by grinning, "I would expect no less. If I must be the villain then I would not be anything less than the most reviled of one."

Freya scoffed at this, "Your bravado is cheap, Hálogison considering the confinement I have in store for you. Or perhaps I should say the confinement which the Elder Skadi has devised."

Loptur's face showed something few had seen on any of the Trickster's many faces: fear. Loptur had had run-ins with the Elder Goddess Skadi in the past and while he had survived them, it was with deep scars.

"You are to be bound Trickster. As Loptur, the Prince of Lies or Loki, the honey-tongued Princess of Illusion, you shall be chained until such times as the Norns decree that the Nine Worlds has need of you. Know that this is not punishment. I understand more than anyone the fires that drove you. But I am Queen and I must do what I must. In his arrogance, Odin has brought the Nine Realms into chaos. For now I reign over the Ǽsir as well as my Vanir. Even the elves of Alfheim and dwarves of Nidvaellir look to me for guidance. Were it just for my realm, I could afford to be lenient but alas I cannot."

Loptur scowled, "Binding one such as I will be difficult, Vanir Queen. Even your seiᵭr magic is strained keeping me chained here while I am wounded and weak! How will you keep me from escaping when I have recovered? I am the Trickster! I cannot be bound! Your Völvan seers are not invulnerable to my illusions! Your feminine magic is no mystery to Loki! And for your warriors…let it not be said that I am unskilled in the arts of battle! I will not be bound by the likes of you!"

Freya leaned in and tapped her finger to the center of Loptur's chest. "That is your Ǽsir upbringing talking, Loptur. I _can_ and _will_ bind you. And Elder Skadi has the means to keep you distracted so that you cannot escape. Although Heimdall remarked to me, keeping you bound in Fenrir's chains seems cruel, using Jörmungand's venom to blind you in pain might seem worse."

Freya matched Loptur's green gaze with her own brilliant azure eyes. "But that is exactly what is to be done. As Loptur Hálogison or Loki Laufeydottir, the Trickster _will_ be bound! I so say it!"

**XxXxX**

**A/N**: I generally despise back and forth stories especially when it is in the form of flashbacks. However, in one sense, the stuff going on in other realms are happening in a difference space where time relative to Earth/Midgard is different. I've decided to try this due to complaints of too much non-HP info right up front.

**Loptur/Loki Look**: For story purposes, I have no trouble with folks seeing Loptur as the Tom Huddleston version of Loki. I even threw in a bit about the green armor and horned helmet. As Loptur he has wild raven black hair with piercing green eyes. (Hmmm, sounds familiar!) As Loki, however, he has fiery red hair and blue eyes. Doing a search I found that Emma Stone has the hair and eyes I can see my Loki having. Traditionally, however, the Marvel Loki is wrong given how the Norse Loki is usually seen as having red hair. (Then again Sif has blonde hair although Marvel does fan-wank why she has black hair in the comics) 

**Magical Beings & Deities Introduced**: As before, I will update the "Cast of Characters" mentioned for those not familiar with Norse theology.

**Tier Two (The Jötunn)**

Jörᵭ: Avatar of Earth and Thor's mother

Skadi: Avatar of Winter 

**Tier Three**  
>Sigyn: Former leader of the Valkyries and wife to LopturLoki. (A Vanir)

Magni: Son of Thor and Sif and brother to Modi and half-brother to Thrȗd. (An Ǽsir)


	3. Opening Moves

**DISCLAIMER THE FIRST: **_It is by JKR's writing alone I set my mind in motion. It is by the grace of coffee that thoughts acquire speed, the back acquires strains, the strains become a warning. The warning is that I make no money from this. It is by JKR's writing alone I set my mind in motion._

**PITHY STATEMENT RELATING TO THIS CHAPTER**: "_You have to take risks. We will only understand the miracle of life fully when we allow the unexpected to happen_." **Paulo Coelho** – Brazilian lyricist & novelist (1947-)

**LAST UPDATED**: 02-09-2015

**XxXxX**

**STORY NOTE THE FIRST**: Writing a being who can be male and female is confusing. (See author's notes for more on this)

**XxXxX**

**CHAPTER THREE – OPENING MOVES**

**XxXxX**

**INFIRMARY, HOGWARTS, SCOTLAND – JUNE 4****th**** 1996 – EVENING**

Harry fought to keep from retching; Dumbledore must have taken him back via side-along apparition. Why was magical transport always so wretched? As he struggled to keep his gorge down, Madam Pomfrey bustled up and led him to the bed which Harry had come to think of as his own considering all the time he had spent in it over the years.

"I'm all right Madam Pomfrey; none of this blood is mine. I'm just tired and thirsty." Harry said.

"Harry, regardless of your lack of wounds, you are probably are in a bit of shock. From my own experience with times like these I can recall how the events of a duel and losing loved ones can come crashing down upon you as the memories sink in. I want you to stay here tonight. We shall talk more when I returned and have Hogwarts back fully in hand." Dumbledore said kindly.

A house elf popped up next to him with clean pajamas and a robe. Harry began to get undressed as Pomfrey and Dumbledore drew back a bit and spoke in low tones to each other. Suddenly Harry had a thought. "Sir, could you tell either of the Patil sisters that we are alright? I don't want the rest of 'Dumbledore's Army' to worry. I'm sure many of them are going spare by now."

If Dumbledore noticed the faint hint of mocking in reference to the D.A. he gave no hint of it. "I must say Harry, you and your companions made me quite proud tonight. If only your parents were here to see it as well as the Longbottoms. Older and more experienced wizards have failed against lesser odds, my boy. Once again you have shown yourself to be a true Gryffindor hero."

Harry couldn't help but tense up a bit and his eyes narrow at Dumbledore's words. "Yes sir; thank you sir, but really I can't take all of the credit. Without the others, I'm sure the prophecy would be in Voldemort's hand and I would be dead if I had gone alone as I had wanted. The real heroes are my friends who stood with me." Harry suddenly had an idea, "I'm sorry the prophecy was smashed, sir. If Voldemort wanted it so badly I'm sure it had to have been important whatever it said."

Harry felt a much stronger stab into his mind as Dumbledore continued to smile and reassured him with his usual words of comfort. Again, Harry met this with a mental wall like glacial ice: cold, unmovable and impenetrable. If this failure bothered him, Dumbledore didn't seem to show it even has he seemed to pit himself fully against Harry's mental screens. Finally the strain had caused Dumbledore to lose the thread of whatever he had been saying to Harry and his voice trailed off."

"Are you all right, sir? Was it harsh while you were on the run from the Ministry?" Harry said trying to sound like the Harry he had been mere hours before.

Dumbledore seemed lost in thought but collected himself and again smiled at Harry along with a twinkle in his eyes. "Oh I was hardly on the run, my boy. I did miss dear Hogwarts since I had not, unfortunately, been able to pack many socks before I was unhappily forced to leave. However, it has been a long night for all of us, Harry, and for me it shall be longer still."

Dumbledore turned to the healer, "Well Poppy, I leave these young heroes in your able hands. I must return to the Ministry. Please have Professor McGonagall meet me there, if you would Poppy. There is much to discuss about getting Hogwarts back on an even keel." In a swirl of his robes, he was gone. Just like Voldemort, apparating through supposedly impenetrable wards although Harry reasoned that he was probably still recognized by the Hogwarts' wards as the Headmaster.

Harry changed out of his bloody clothes and settled into his cot. Neville was already asleep in the cot next to him. From the smell, Pomfrey must have given him some Skele-Grow for his nose and a sleeping draught. He assumed the girls were on the other side of the privacy screens. There was no sign of Ron, however. He asked about this when Pomfrey returned with some water for him.

"Don't worry Mr. Potter; none of your friends are in any immediate danger since Mr. Lupin and the others got them here so quickly. I am afraid Miss Granger will have to spend some time here. I was able to stabilize her but the spell did do some serious damage to her internal organs."

"Will there be any lasting damage?" Harry asked.

Madam Pomfrey shook her head, 'Thankfully no. Miss Weasley, like Mr. Longbottom was easily fixed and will be able to leave tomorrow. Like yourself, young Miss Lovegood had only minor wounds but she does seem to be suffering a bit of magical exhaustion. Given the events of tonight, that is hardly surprising." Pomfrey gave him a look which made him think she found it odd that not only was Harry not magically exhausted but was brimming with magical energy.

"What about Ron?" Harry asked, noticing she hadn't answered his question and wanted to get her away from thinking about his changes anyway.

Sure enough, Pomfrey's face fell, "Physically there is little wrong with Mr. Weasley which I was not able to fix as easily as his sister's broken ankle. Mentally, however, I am at a bit of a loss. I already have some experts coming in from St. Mungo's. I will not lie to you Mr. Potter; the creatures which attack Mr. Weasley are very dangerous."

"What where they and why on earth where they in there in the first place," Harry asked.

Madam Pomfrey hesitated for a moment. She seemed unsure of what to say. "They are called Cognivores and they are a rare magical creature which appear to feed on thoughts. They have been used in the past as a punishment for capital crimes. There are other uses which are quite… disturbing which have been used in certain cases, both legal and illegal. There is no known way for a person to shield their thoughts from a Cognivore. I'm sure the Unspeakables keep them for study which is why they were there. If I remember correctly, you will learn more about them in seventh year Defense class. It is unfortunate you had not learned about them earlier as so could have avoided them."

Madam Pomfrey looked at Harry intently, "Mr. Potter, the effects those creatures had Mr. Weasley may be very slight or very severe. The mind is a tricky thing and it may be he is affected immediately or it may be awhile before the affects are noticed or even understood. So please, I would ask that you be understanding; it may be awhile before you can see your friend. I have him in a separate room so I can minimize the amount of stimulus he receives."

"I understand Madam Pomfrey," Harry said. "I'm just happy he is still alive for you to work on." Harry did understand since he had already seen evidence that the Wizarding world was frankly crap when it came to anything resembling psychiatric care. Neville's parents and Lockhart were grim examples of this.

Harry wished he had more interest in the field beyond what he had read over the years. Hiding out from Dudley in the Little Whinging library did pay off at times. Maybe he could get Hermione side-tracked from SPEW and onto this. If anything it would be a way to help Neville's parents and maybe Ron if he developed problems from the attack.

"Would you like a Dreamless Sleep draught tonight, Mr. Potter?" Pomfrey asked, obviously wanting to get back to tending Ron.

"No ma'am, I have a lot to think about and I would rather do it sooner rather than later." Harry replied.

"Very good Mr. Potter but I want to warn you I will be checking up on you. You have lost a loved one and your friends got hurt following you into danger. It is very common for people in your situation to blame themselves. Especially with the death of your godfather, you may end up feeling 'survivor's guilt' which is common in aurors and soldiers who feel guilty for surviving while others died around them. In addition, Mr. Potter, do not believe it unmanly or cowardly to let your feelings show. If grief over the death of your godfather makes you cry than by all means weep. Expressing your grief will speed the natural healing process. It is sad he died but you did not and you will need to accept this or it will eat at you till you do."

"Yes, ma'am; again I understand this and I will…" Harry's voice trailed off.

"Is there a problem Mr. Potter?" Pomfrey asked worriedly.

"How did you know my godfather died? Most people don't even know Sirius Black was my godfather and far less know he died tonight." Harry said, suspicion suddenly flaring in him.

"Oh, well, yes…that is true but the Headmaster mentioned it before he left," the healer stammered.

Harry forced himself to smile, "Oh well that is alright then. I will remember what you said; I don't want to keep your from your rounds."

"Good-night, Mr. Potter," Pomfrey said. Harry could hear the subtle sound of relief in her voice as the witch closed the curtain walling him and Neville off from the rest of the infirmary.

Harry settled back into his pillow with a frown.

She had just lied to him.

**XxXxX**

**THE VILLAGE OF HOGSMEADE, SCOTLAND – APRIL 9****th**** 1977 – EARLY EVENING**

No one saw the evening mist coalesce behind the local bakery into a red-haired beauty of a witch. Even the far-seeing eyes of Heimdall did not mark it as significant. Witches appeared out of the air often enough in the magical village of Hogsmeade.

Yet the woman who looked at her surroundings with a quirky smile on her face was not a witch. She might look like a witch and would register magically as one. But in truth she was in fact nothing more than a construct. A dream made manifest.

Loki breathed in the crisp Highland air with relish. Spring might be coming to England but it was slow to come to Scotland. Not that Loki cared; she barely registered the cold given her heritage. What she did notice was that it had been almost a century since she had manifested on Midgard and yet Hogsmeade looked almost unchanged.

Looking at the shops with their flats above, she pondered whether Diagon Alley was similarly unchanged. This bothered her. Those born with Völva's gift lived long and just like many of those in the other realms, they seemed content to live those long years as their forefathers had.

It troubled Loki given the amazing strides the people of Midgard had made recently. Why they had barely leapt into the air when they began to be able to destroy entire cities from the skies! The rickety machines of wood and canvas had given way to steel in the blink of an immortal's eye. Not content with the planet of their birth, now they walked on the moon and sent their busy machines around the solar system as the All-Father used to send Hugin and Munin.

Loki was delighted by this. It was new! It was exciting! Certainly the people of Midgard had also come up with frighteningly terrible things to do to each other and the planet but then energy of it all appealed to that part of her being which had come from her real father. The Midgardians certainly had a fire in them! Sadly those with Völva's gifts were content to advance slowly and this made her sad. So much potential confined by tradition and chained by the status quo.

Loki's face quirked into a grin many in Asgard knew to fear the sight of. Perhaps time for her to mix it up at bit. Hadn't Freya said long ago after the battle of Ragnarok Fields that she wished she could let Loki do what she did so well? As much as Freya was a Queen, Loki appreciated that she understood the value of letting people be true to who they were. Of the Asgardians, only her foster mother Frigga had understood the value of the Trickster.

Yes. Too long had the Trickster been bound! She had warned the Vanir queen that her efforts would be futile. So what if the watchers saw Loptur's body bound as it had been for ages? Struggling as the venom of his lost child dripped into a series of magical bowls which would eventually overflow and drop into his eyes? The body might be bound but the magic was not!

Loki made her way down the back ways of Hogsmeade looking for the wizard she had marked for tonight's play. He had a Trickster's heart and came from a distinguished line of wizards. Indeed ancestors of his had managed to impress her daughter Hel into blessing items they had forged. Items that even the dwarves of Nidvaellir would covet.

As he passed by other students from Hogwarts, Loki could not but help thinking how sweet it was to finesse her way out of Elder Skadi's trap. Certainly she was still bound but her ability to manifest just sped the day she'd eventually be free. For all her power, Skadi was a being of ice and snow. For all the chaos of winter storms, Skadi was more a creature of Ymir's temperament. For all that each snowflake was unique; there was an underlying order to the crystals.

Skadi had crafted her ingenious method of various bowls creating a system where it was supposedly impossible to choose which bowl would overflow. This meant her loyal wife Sigyn usually had to watch in horror as her husband writhed as the venom dripped into his eyes. True Sigyn guessed which bowl would overflow correctly more often than anyone else Loki could expect save Freya or her twin Frey. Loki had not been thrilled at taking a wife at first but over the long centuries, she had come around. Sigyn was a good foil for Loptur's brashness as well as tempering Loki's vengeful side.

It was her ability to guess correctly that had allowed Loki the time to watch. While Skadi's charmed bowls moved in seemingly random ways, there was a pattern. A pattern one could only see after a long time and only to one so attune to chance as Loki. Now when the bowls grew close to overflowing, she could gaze at the one which would need to be emptied.

Loki rarely did this and his wife, so cunning and perceptive, never showed a hint that husband and wife had figured a way around the trap. Sigyn had been the leader of the elite Valkyries even though she was as much a noble born Vanir as Freya herself. She understood from working with the Völva that all things came in their time.

Loki's previously smiling face melted into a frown. She liked to think she was beholden to none but she had found it difficult to harden her heart when Sigyn would look into her husband's face and not see a sign of which bowl to choose. The look of suffering on her face made her own suffering under the venom's sting that much harder to bear. Loki vowed she would make it up to her somehow. Possibly with children. Both had put off having more children given what had happened to their twins Nári and Váli. After an ambush in Jötunheim, the Asgardians had blamed his sons for betraying their location. Regardless that the pair had grown up in Asgard, them being sons of Loptur made them suspect. Long time friends had turned on them.

The leader of the war-party, his other wretched step-brother Prince Baldur had been one of them. Instead of bringing the matter to the All-Father, Baldur had cursed the out-spoken Nári. Yet Baldur had not taken into consideration that while the twins might look like Asgardians, they were Lokiborn. The curse turned Nári into a wolf who then tragically tore his own brother to shreds as Váli tried to stop his transformed brother's rampage. Given how the other Lokiborn had been treated by the Ǽsir in the past and what had happened to their only sons, Sigyn had agreed to wait. Now with the people of Asgard under the thumb of the Vanir, things could be different.

Till that day, however, Loki had ways to amuse herself. For centuries she had been manifesting into Midgard. As Loptur, he had helped strengthen certain families he'd taken a likening to. Families like the Blacks here in England. Other families across Europe also had the touch of the Trickster's magic in him. Hopefully as Loki grew stronger, she would be able to manifest to other parts of Midgard and play her games there.

Throughout the years, in those few hours when the sting of the venom had eased enough, Loptur had tricked his way into many a bed wearing the face of the witch's husband or lover. A few memory charms and no one was the wiser. Never the first born and a little Trickster magic kept the child looking enough like its supposed father that no one noticed. Even the goblin's blood magic used to determine inheritance was fooled! No one, not even vigilant Hugin and Munin, knew these children held the blood of a god in them.

Of course since he was a manifestation in Midgard, the full power that was his birthright wasn't passed on. The children of his secret trysts were not his get but merely blessed with his favor. This was a pity as there was so much delicious chaos and mischief which could have been done if he could have unleashed hordes of his children upon Midgard!

Today, however, was something different. Today it was Loki who would be the face of the Trickster and it would be played on a boy who fancied himself one. Now the prank would be on the prankster. James Potter's ego, already large for being a favorite son of a rich family, had grown worse after saving his enemy from murder at the hands of a werewolf.

It had been the werewolf which had gotten them noticed. While Loki appreciated their antics as the so called Marauders, it was the werewolf in Hogwarts which had surprised Loki. Nári had managed to escape to Midgard before he had been hunted down and killed. Yet before that had happened, Nári had bitten many and through such bites, Baldur's curse was transmitted.

Loki had long watched these children of his dead son. Watched as they struggled to deal with the wolf inside them. Most went mad or feral. The strong ones, however, embraced the wolf and realized the curse was a blessing if one had the clarity of mind to be one with the wolf. Those few created packs to live and thrive in. From those packs was born a unique civilization all its own.

It had heartened Loki to see a werewolf learning magic even if the boy obviously rejected the boon he had been given. Still the Hogwarts werewolf was a new thing and Loki was drawn to new things even if the werewolf wasn't to his liking. The guilt the werewolf boy felt over the possibility he would have killed the Slytherin boy was heavy.

Loki sneered at this idea just as a trio of students in green and gold walked by her by happenstance. Slytherin! There had been a line he had started which had not gone as she had hoped. The line had taken her gifts and squandered them. Only in far off India was the gift of parsel speech appreciated! Off course the son which had left to seek his fortune in India had been seen as a failure by the Slytherin family!

The Slytherin boy who was the avowed the enemy of her target of fun for the evening was anything but cunning or ambitious. Instead he clung to a dream which he did nothing to try to attain. Indeed he had allowed others to poison his mind and in doing so pushed the boy into shattering the possibility of ever achieving the dream of courting Lily Evans. Pretty Lily, whose face and form Loki now wore.

It was an easy face to wear given how Lily had the same red hair and piercing green eyes as Loki had. And why not? Her bloodline came from old Black blood and thus had essence of the Trickster in her. Of course her face had a pixie beauty to it Loki could appreciate. A beauty which came from her mother who hadn't been what she seemed.

Loki loved the irony of how the witch was tormented for being a Muggleborn. If all the Pureblood elites knew of her true parentage, they would be stumbling over themselves to court her!

Yes they would be as desperate to court her as Potter boy was. A boy she now could see through the window of the Three Broomsticks as he drank butterbeer and laughed with his three Marauder friends. His wild raven hair was an obvious sign of his Black grandmother. Loki had to admit that the boy had a striking likeness to Loptur. Funny how every so often a wizard from a family he had "blessed" would end up look so much like their secret father.

Tonight, however, she wouldn't be adding to the bloodline. Tonight was for piercing the ego of a boy who had begun to take himself way too seriously. Loki had seen it before. Too often those who began to believe what their vanity whispered to them ended up becoming far too similar to the All-Father for Loki's liking. Indeed the boy's Headmaster reeked of Odin's hubris.

Better to knock him off his broom now especially given he was Heir Potter. Loki was rather fond of the family and didn't want some spoiled brat to ruin such a fine family line.

**XxXxX**

**INFIRMARY, HOGWARTS, SCOTLAND – JUNE 4****th**** 1996 – EVENING**

Why had Madam Pomfrey lied about Sirius? The thought was forefront in Harry's mind as he gazed at the infirmary's ceiling in the dim light. He could hear Madam Pomfrey still moving about somewhere. Most likely checking on Hermione's injuries again.

While he hadn't been paying strict attention when he had been undressing, Harry knew he hadn't heard Dumbledore say anything about Sirius. One of the others might have mentioned it to her but he doubted it. There hadn't been much time for Madam Pomfrey to chat up his friends before he had arrived here with Dumbledore. She would have been too busy working on them. It is possible Remus had mentioned it but that hadn't been what she had said. Why lie when there is no reason too?

Harry thought back to the spell he had felt go over his shoulder; the one which had killed Sirius by knocking him into the Veil. There hadn't been any Death Eaters behind them and there had certainly not been any near enough to fire spells that close to them.

Harry closed his eyes in concentration. So many questions whose answers all seemed to be impossible. Harry remembered a quote from a movie he had watched during a movie event day at the library: '_If you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth_.'

Pomfrey knew Sirius was dead before anyone showed up to tell her. How? Did the Order call her prior to leaving for the Ministry and warn her they where going and to prepare for potential casualties? Given the reason Dumbledore gave to Fudge about being able to protect people at Hogwarts this was a reasonable assumption. Harry knew the members of the Order had often used her to treat their injuries.

So if she knew Sirius had gone to fight, her stating he was dead implied that she knew he was expected, if not guaranteed, to die at the Ministry. The spell which killed Sirius had come from someone behind him. Beyond the magical energy which Harry had felt, it hadn't seemed to have any sort of visible component to it and Harry knew none of his friends, even Hermione, knew a spell like that. So however improbable, it left that one of the Order had to be the real killer.

Okay, Harry thought, so even if Dumbledore had the Order kill Sirius it begged the most important question: why? What made Sirius so dangerous that he needed to be killed? Was it because regardless of the past, Sirius had become devoted more to Harry than to Dumbledore? It was the only answer which made sense. Sirius wasn't a threat to any of Dumbledore's offices. According to comments Hermione had made a few days ago, there had been international pressure on Britain to reinstate Dumbledore back into his non-Headmaster posts.

So what was it about Sirius which made him so dangerous? Harry frowned at the thought that Sirius had been thrown into prison without a trial all those years ago. That and even after his escape, for all his power Dumbledore seemed surprisingly ineffective at getting his named cleared. He hadn't even been able to have the "give the Dementor's kiss upon apprehension" order rescinded.

Harry had to figure out (and quickly!) why Sirius had to be eliminated. He obviously had become a threat but not enough of one to have him quietly killed in Azkaban years ago. What had changed?

It was hard to think. Harry had flashes of memories not his own. He was pretty sure he had inadvertently ended up with memories from Voldemort. After the incident with accidentally getting into Snape's head, he had gotten the feeling that the mind arts worked both ways. Like a bridge, it went both directions. It was going to be tough to think about what had happened with so much of the Dark Lord's thoughts jumbled up in his head that was for sure!

"If you had been wearing that face your first year, Harry Potter, I believe you would have been sorted into Ravenclaw," a soft voice said.

Harry looked up and found himself gazing into the wide, blue eyes of Luna Lovegood. For a moment he was trapped in their cerulean, unblinking depths.

"Hello Luna," Harry greeted in the same soft voice.

"I was worried the Wrackspurts had finally claimed you. Forcing people to face hard truths is an unpleasant trait of theirs." Luna said cocking her head to the side as she continued to search Harry's face as if looking for something. He noticed she was missing her trademark butterbeer cork necklace and she had a bandage cover the left side of her neck.

"Hmmm, I don't think Voldemort would count as a Wrackspurt or he would keep them as allies." Harry said with a small smile.

"Yes, I doubt the Death Eaters would be able to keep them fed with a decent meal of thoughts," Luna replied serenely.

This slight joke caught his attention. Harry returned Luna's searching gaze. There was something new; something dark behind those blue eyes. While Luna remained a young girl, soft and willowy, Harry sensed a new seriousness. Had she gone through something similar in the Department of Mysteries? Had she broken out of the trap her life had been as well?

"Luna, I wanted to thank you. You saved my life tonight." Harry said slowly. He was trying to read her to get a sense of the change.

"Oh Harry, I did nothing more than what the others did. Although I must say that perhaps Ronald might have been less exuberant when surrounded by possibly hostile creatures." Luna said. Her voice was light but it seemed to lack the ethereal, dreamy quality Harry was used to hearing.

"Perhaps, but I wasn't talking about what you did tonight, although I'm sure you were brilliant. No, I wanted to thank you for your words. They saved me tonight when I was drowning in my own darkness as Voldemort was tearing away at my magic, memories and very life."

Luna's eyes grew even wider at this but she said nothing.

"'_Life is a trap of our own making if we allow_ _it_' you told me a few weeks ago," Harry continued. "I had to be almost dead before I came face to face with the trap my life has been. In doing so, I was able to break the chains I had unwittingly been tricked into binding myself with. Now I have found that everything I thought I knew just yesterday might be wrong. I feel as if I have woken from a dream to find that day is night and white is black. I find myself unsure of what to trust and what to doubt. Who is my friend and who is smiling behind a mask, waiting to betray me?"

Luna continued to stare at him, her head still cocked to the side. Slowly she straightened up and came around the bed. Sitting, she leaned forward almost as if to kiss Harry. "The most effective trap is the one you willing ensnare yourself into, Harry. The spider merely tempts you into the web with a subtle deception; it is people's preconceptions that blind them to the danger at the center of that web."

Harry felt a bit of panic well up in him. The prophecy had spoken of him being born into deceit. Was Luna in on the plot against him? She seemed to certainly be aware of it!

Luna seemed to sense his sudden unease and she reached out and set her finger onto his lips. "Harry we both lived in a world we thought we knew. I think tonight both of us broke free from those perceptions which bound us," she said in a quiet, serious tone.

Luna leaned back and for a moment her face took on a bit of her old dreamy Looney look. "I always knew you and I had some connection, Harry. I knew even before this year when we never did more than pass in the halls. Yet I somehow knew there was something about you, something far more than all the Boy-Who-Lived tales that Ginny used to always go on about when we played together as girls. Back when I was allowed to be a girl…"

Luna's eyes went unfocused for a bit as she trailed off. Catching herself, she hurried on, "I felt it at every D.A. meetings. Fate has marked you Harry and you carry this destiny around you like a cloak. Others might not be as perceptive as I but they respond to it."

Harry once again noted how Luna seemed to channel the prophecy's words. He kept silent, however, wanting answers.

"Yet there was always a wrongness about you Harry; nothing ever seemed to fit. Things never added up when it came to you. Your friends never acted the way they should and people blew first one way and then the other in regards to you. One moment you were a fire which flared up brightly before it faded into a cold darkness."

Luna reached out and took his right hand in hers, "Yet somehow you have gone topsy-turvy. Instead of a bright fire of the hero, the Boy-Who-Lived, there is…ice? Something happened tonight, did it not, Harry?" Luna asked although her tone left no doubt that she knew that something most certain had. "Instead of a bonfire on a moonless night, your power now seems like the moon shining brightly off a glacier by the dark seas of the North."

Harry realized his suspicions were wrong. Luna was still Luna; that had not changed.

"Yes something did happen tonight and, like I said, it's thanks to you I survived it. What about yourself? I am not the only one changed by tonight." Harry said evenly.

Luna turned her head away from him with a melancholy look on her face, "We both had chains binding our us, Harry. Your chains may have been forged by Fate but mine were just as evil. We both went through life half-asleep, never fully aware, and never truly awake. Tonight I think the sleepers have awakened. Now we both have to find a way to deal with the uncomfortable truths we have awakened too." Luna seemed to be looking at something only she could see.

"Luna, look at me," Harry said. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze which seemed to bring Luna back to herself. "I want you to know that whatever has gone on in the past, whatever has happened to you or done to you that I will be here for you."

Harry noted how Luna flinched at '_done to you_' and worried that what it might mean. True Vernon had often beaten him but had never gone further than that. With nothing more than chores to do back in Surrey, Harry read voraciously at the library. Thus he was well aware of what the news would report about what was 'done to' many pretty young girls. He prayed that this wasn't the case!

Luna looked unsure for a moment and then gave a weak smile, "Thank you, Harry Potter. Again I cannot help but feel that you and I are linked somehow. It is nice to know I finally have a friend. Someone who looks after me and does not judge me."

Harry reached out and took Luna's other hand. Luna face lit up with surprise as he pulled her in for a hug. Harry then cupped her face in his hands and kissed her lightly, "Luna, one of the greatest gifts I have gotten is to be treated like a normal person. Other than Hermione, you are the only one who has ever truly done that. I would never judge you."

Luna blinked and hesitantly fingered her lips where Harry's kiss still seem to burn. "I…," Luna couldn't seem to complete the thought and finally gave up, still touching her lips as if not believing Harry had kissed her.

Harry leaned forward on a lark and kissed her again, "See Luna? It really happened!" Harry grinned. He had to admit that kissing Luna was so much nicer than the disastrous kisses he had had with Cho. Plus there seemed to be an actual spark involved. He wondered if perhaps Hermione had been wrong to scoff at all of the teen-witch stories that Lavender seemed to always be reading. He vividly remembered her stating the idea that magical auras could connect was so much romantic twaddle. After two kisses with Luna, he would have to disagree with his bushy-haired friend.

Luna blushed furiously, her alabaster skin highlighting the blush to its fullest. She got up, stammering something about letting Harry sleep. Harry caught her hand to keep her from leaving.

"Luna, you don't need to run away. I'm your friend and I kissed you as a friend." Harry tried to say this without making it sound like he was rejecting her. However he surprised himself by continuing, "but if you ever want to do it again as more than 'just friends' I wouldn't say no either." Harry released her hand and was a bit surprised she didn't bolt.

Luna looked down at him with look that could mean so many different and even conflicting things all at once. Finally she gave a shy smile, "Good night, Harry Potter…and thank you."

"Good night Luna Lovegood, the pleasure was all mine" They shared the moment before Luna turned and returned to her bed leaving Harry alone with his turbulent thoughts.

**XxXxX**

**THE LIBRARY, HOGWARTS, SCOTLAND – APRIL 10****th**** 1977 – EARLY EVENING**

James Potter took a deep breath and then let it out slowly. Alice had finally left to go on her prefect rounds leaving Lily alone. Luckily Lily was one who preferred the quieter (and thus more secluded) sections of the library to study in. As Heir Potter, James turned enough heads as it was. He didn't need an audience for his talk with Lily.

So with a last hand run through his unruly hair, James came around the stacks he'd been hiding behind and quickly made his way to the table where Lily was working on what seemed to be their current Charms homework. He slid into the chair Alice had just vacated with a quiet, "Hey Lily."

The red-headed witch looked up and almost immediately her face broke into a frown, "Potter! What do you want?"

James blinked in surprise but kept his face from falling. It seemed she'd regretted the other night like he feared. "Look Lily, I know you said you didn't want to talk about it but I can't think about anything else. Saturday night was…was…well it was brilliant. But as great as it was, I don't want it to just be that one moment. I know I said it last night but I'll say it again. I've loved you from the moment I saw you back in First Year…"

Lily cut him off with a sharp gesture, "James just stop. I don't know if this is one of your pranks or if Severus has confounded you. What I do know is I have no idea what you're talking about. What do you mean last night? I was with Professor Flitwick last night. Sure I went into Hogsmeade but I was there for only about an hour before walking back."

James frowned, "Whose the one confounded. You met me at the Three Broomsticks. You were at the window and signaled me to come with you and then we…"

Lily frowned as well, "We what?"

James looked at his fellow Gryffindor and his heart sank. He could see it in her face. There was no way they could have done what they had done and not have it show it on her face. Lily wasn't that good of an actress, that was for sure. "No, no this didn't happen again."

Lily's frown deepened at the distress in James's voice. "What didn't happen again? I told you I didn't want to get involved with any more of you and your buddies fights with Severus. I may be done with him but don't drag me into your fights with him or any other of the Slytherins. There is enough fighting going out outside of Hogwarts as it is."

James just shook his head back and forth and couldn't help but hug his stomach which was thankfully hidden by the table. "I can't believe it. Snape couldn't be so stupid to try it again. He'd know Sirius would kill him…._**I'd**_ kill him. Merlin! Who could have done this?"

Lily's face went from irritated to concerned, "James…what _**are**_ you talking about?"

James looked up and met the witch's eyes with a haunted look in his own hazel eyes, "Last night, like I said, you got my attention and said you wanted to talk. You took me to this secluded spot and we talked and then we…"

James's voice faded out as he looked away.

Lily leaned forward, "Then we what?" There was ice in her voice which made James flinch.

"We snogged for a bit and then you…you…well clothes started coming off and then we…" James couldn't bring himself to say it.

Lily, however, seemed to have no trouble understanding what he was implying. She had heard the rumors. Even moreso she'd been able to wheedle a bit out of Remus to know that Sirius had almost gotten Severus killed. The boys all thought they were so smart and clever but both Alice and Lily had figured out Remus was a werewolf back in 2nd Year.

From the clues she'd gathered, to say nothing of Sarah Underwood's near breakdown earlier in the year, Lily knew that Sirius had been the victim of Snape's use of Polyjuice. Now, it seemed, James had been the victim.

As angry as she was, she found herself feeling compassion for James even though the boy had been stalking her from 1st Year. The prat had thought he'd been in love with her since then just as he'd said it again tonight. Yet for all the problems James had caused her over the years with his love-struck ways, she felt terrible at seeing how crushed James seemed.

He was hunched over, shaking his head back and forth and muttering, "This can't be happening. Not this, not like this."

It broke Lily's heart to see it. She knew that James was newly orphaned. The official story might have been his parents died of Dragonpox but she had heard James say to Sirius that both his parents had had the disease as children. James felt it was the Voldemort fellow who had them poisoned for refusing to lend their power to his cause.

Had one of the Slytherins taken a page out of Severus's nasty book? Worse is someone had used her hair as part of the emotional attack on James. That made her angry. It made her feel used and she certainly empathized with her fellow Gryffindor.

Lily bit her lip but decided that James needed help more than she needed not to feed his infatuation with her. She laid a comforting hand on James's shoulder, "Look James, I'm sorry this happened but I'll help you get through it. This is an attack on both of us and I want to be in on finding out the pillock who did this. Just promise me we won't get Remus and his 'furry little problem' involved, okay?"

James looked up in shock.

Lily simply rolled her eyes, "Oh come on James! I know you call me the smartest witch in our year but you are surprised I can figure out that Remus is a werewolf? He's my friend too you know."

James blinked at this and quickly wiped his face of the tears, "Yes…you are all that, aren't you?"

Lily managed not to sigh at the look of adoration on the wizard's face. Still, she had to admit that Alice was right about James _was_ rather fetching when he wasn't being an egotistical berk.

It suddenly struck her that James had seen all of her and yet the most she'd seen of him was without his shirt that one day when she was walking past their Quidditch practice. Didn't seem fair.

Lily shook her head at the silly notion in her head. She had more important things to think about than James's body!

**XxXxX**

**A/N**: English has no commonly accepted way to deal with gender neutral beings. Given how the Trickster is both male (Loptur) and female (Loki) it can be confusing. However while they are the same being, I will write it like they are two distinct beings. So you might see a sentence like, "_Loki thought of her body chained in Asgard, a look of agony not doubt on his face._" In this case it is "his face" given that it is Loptur is the form which is chained. She still thinks, however, of it being "her body" given how while it is currently male, it is still her material form. (All of which will make sense as you read this chapter) Also, even as Loki, I will write certain things from a male perspective regarding parenting. Thus you get "_Loki lamented his lost son Fenrir_" given it was Loptur who sired him.

**Magical Beings & Deities Introduced**: As always, I'll try to keep who's who of various magical beings cited in the chapter.

Nári and Váli: Twin sons of Loptur and Sigyn. A hawk and dove paring with Nári being the hawk and Váli being the dove. As mentioned, even though raised like any other Asgardian, they immediately are blamed for an ambush on a war party led by Prince Baldur. Cursed by Baldur, Nári turns into a wolf (not surprising given his half-brother is Fenrir) and begins to tear up the remnants of the war party. Váli is killed by Nári who escapes to Midgard. His bite creates the first werewolves before he is tracked down and killed by Höder. (Both Lokiborn)

Höder: Blind god traditionally seen as Baldur's twin and who mistakenly kills Baldur. In this fic Höder is Frigga's brother and is the Asgardian equivalent of Frey. Prides himself on not needing to see given his sense of smell and hearing. Famous for being able to use a bow or throwing axe while blindfolded. (Tier Three God – An Ǽsir)

Verdani: The middle aspect of The Norns. Verdani is the mother aspect who measures out the threads of Fate.

Skuld: The later aspect of The Norns. Skuld is the grandmother aspect who cuts the threads to the desired length before weaving them into the Wyrd.


	4. Ministry Moves

**DISCLAIMER THE FIRST: **_It is by JKR's writing alone I set my mind in motion. It is by the grace of coffee that thoughts acquire speed, the back acquires strains, the strains become a warning. The warning is that I make no money from this. It is by JKR's writing alone I set my mind in motion._

**PITHY STATEMENT RELATING TO THIS CHAPTER**: "_Bureaucracy defends the status quo long past the time when the quo has lost its status_." **Laurence J. Peter** – Canadian educator and "hierarchiologist" and 'Peter Principle' Inventor (1919-1990)

**LAST UPDATED**: 02-09-2015

**XxXxX**

**STORY NOTE**: I've gone back and changed the previous three chapters. While nothing major has changed, I've changed how the events in the chapters were ordered. So unless you review the previous chapters, you will be confused.

**XxXxX**

**CHAPTER FOUR – MINISTRY MOVES**

**XxXxX**

**INFIRMARY, HOGWARTS, SCOTLAND – JUNE 5****th**** 1996 – EARLY MORNING**

Harry woke to the sounds of Madame Pomfrey arguing with a man with a deep voice. Harry couldn't tell who it was but it sounded a familiar. He was still groggy as he had laid thinking deep into the night before what ever had super-charged him at the fight at the Ministry seemed to relent so he could sleep. Even then his night was filled with busy dreams.

Or more properly nightmares. Harry relived seeing Sirius fall into the Veil quite a few times during the night.

Harry had thought of many things before that and run through his memories that seemed to crowd his head, driving him to distraction. Before dropping off to sleep, Harry was sure that he had somehow either gained a better connection to Voldemort's mind or had somehow gotten copies of some of his memories. Why else did he have flashes of an orphanage where people wore clothes like Harry had seen in old news footage on the BBC?

Nothing else could explain it and Harry spent a good part of the night trying to sort these memories and the others away from the core he thought of as 'him' so not to lose himself in Riddle's life. Again he had used Luna's voice as a meditative aide to help him concentrate; the feel of her lips still fresh on his own.

Harry had found it suspicious of the pathways his thoughts were regarding that kiss. Early in the year, a kiss with Cho had brought embarrassment and confusion. A friendlier, if passionate in a chaste sort of way, had Harry thinking more carnal thoughts. Thoughts Harry found odd that he never seemed to have before.

Before finally giving in to sleep, Harry had wondered if his resistance to Fleur's aura had less to do with his strength against things as the Imperious Curse and more to do with some of the spell work the Headmaster had done. For an almost 17 year old boy, he had lived an almost sexless life.

Even more damning was how he had previously reasoned against such things. Harry could remember the thunderous sermons of Father Gordon, the parish priest the Dursleys loved to hear. Yet now they almost seemed comical. Perhaps Dumbledore's spell was less about control and more about using the available material to make him think his actions were freely taken.

This thought had bothered him last night and it bothered him just as much this morning. The Dursley has spent his entire childhood reinforcing the idea he was worthless, a burden and a freak. Harry shuddered to think who the mind-magicks Dumbledore had put on him had utilized such lessons in modeling his behavior.

This slight movement turned out to be a mistake as Harry groaned as he shifted in bed. All of his muscles ached, even the ones he didn't realize had existed before this morning. While Barty Crouch Jr. had been a fake, his words as Professor Moody still made sense. Harry remembered how the one-eyed replica constantly warned of the need to be in good physical condition if one wanted to be a dueler. Harry felt that he had run a marathon after a couple of laps back and forth across the Black Lake.

Harry finally opened his eyes to find himself being watched by a familiar, pink-haired woman with a heart-shaped face.

"Wotcher, Harry!" Tonks said. As much as her mouth was smiling, it certainly didn't reach her eyes which seemed clouded with worry.

"Auror Tonks; what brings you here today? With the proof of Voldemort's return I would have thought the aurors would be scouring the country for him, to say nothing of those in the Order." Harry tried to say this calmly but he couldn't help but feel the other shoe was about to drop. The sound of a losing argument by Madame Pomfrey didn't help.

"I'm sorry, Harry, but Shack and I are here to take you into custody." Tonks said neutrally. She seemed surprised how quickly he had picked up on the vibe in the room considering he'd been fitfully sleeping not 5 minutes before.

"Would this be protective custody or am I to be falsely accused in front of the Wizengamot again?" Harry asked, again trying to keep his tone light. Tonk's whole manner had already told him the answer.

"No, Mr. Potter," Kingsley Shacklebolt said coming around from the privacy screens followed by a very glum Madame Pomfrey. "I am afraid you are under arrest for multiple crimes, both here and at the Ministry. You are to be taken there as soon as you are ready to travel."

Madam Pomfrey exploded at this, "At least let me have him fed and checked again! Merlin's beard man, the boy was fighting You-Know-Who just yesterday! He shouldn't be moved until a _lot _of things are looked at."

Tonks cut in smoothly, "Madame Pomfrey, we'll take good care of him. We are of the Order you know. We won't let anything happen to him."

Harry's eyes narrowed at this. Yesterday he would have been heartened to hear those assurances. Yesterday was also when the evidence pointed to someone in the Order casting the spell which pushed Sirius into the Veil. Harry thought of news reports he had read and some of the old Yank mobster movies his Aunt Petunia fancied. Was he going to be 'disappeared' by the Order? Few knew what had happened the night before and most of them were Fudge's men. He doubted Fudge would lift a finger to keep him alive if killing him helped salvage his battered career.

Before Harry could start to even think of grabbing his wand and making a break for it, he remembered the prophecy. Neither the Order nor the Ministry could kill him if the prophecy was correct in being bound by life and death. Harry hadn't learned much in his time in Divinations but he did know trying to alter a prophecy had never, ever worked. If he was fated to kill or be killed by Voldemort or Dumbledore than that was how it would be. Nothing Fudge or Dumbledore could try would alter it. That didn't mean life couldn't become very unpleasant before that day however, Harry thought grimly. Yet since Neville was in the next cot over, there was an avenue he could take.

"My I ask on what charges?" Harry said, deciding to play along for now. He needed more information before he could decide if he needed to make a break for it. Harry wasn't sure how he could get away from two trained aurors but then again, he _had_ gotten away from Voldemort so there was chance.

Not much of one, but a slim chance was better than none.

**XxXxX**

**THE FIELDS OF RAGNOROK, ASGARD – SOME TIME AGO AS THESE THINGS GO**

Loptur watched a sliver of venom as it slowly began to swell. It grew at a rate which few except Heimdall would be able to see. It didn't help that a collection of various bowls drifted over him in a seemingly random dance as if pushed around by winds which moved them in all directions.

Yet Loptur already knew the drop would likely fall before another 10,000 heartbeats and it would fall into the one bowl with the frolicking reindeer etched into its bronze sides. That bowl was barely half-filled with venom so Loptur began to start thinking about where he would manifest in Midgard next.

"I think you will find things have changed before that time, Hálogison."

If he wasn't so tightly bound, Loptur would have jerked in surprise. It was a testament to the power of the being who walked into his view that he had not sensed her approach. He would wager that the Völva outside had no inkling of her presence either.

"Well this is a surprise. I doubt you've come here to mock me. So what can a poor prisoner such as I do for Verdani?" Loptur asked. Yet inside, the Trickster was seething with anticipation. Had not Freya said that he would be freed when the Norns decreed it?

The middle aspect of the avatar of Fate merely smirked, "A poor prisoner indeed given your inability to stay in jail. However I am afraid I will have to disappoint you. I am not here to set you free. I am, however, here to set a part of you free. A part which you do not realize you have."

Loptur frowned. While the Norns often spoke in cryptic riddles, Verdani was being almost playful. This was something gods like himself knew to fear. "Why do I have the feeling that even bound as I am, that I'm being moved like a chess piece of the board of the Nine Worlds?"

Verdani laughed which had the sounded of a mixture of flutes and birdsong, "Perceptive as always, Hálogison. Unlike your foster-father, it is nice to see you understand there are many competing forces involved. Even as your forces battled the All-Father, a higher power saw a way to advance its agenda. Of course other forces have moved to counter. That counter is what brings me here this day."

"And what part of me shall I be losing? I'm rather attached to all my various parts, if you don't mind," Loptur said with a mischievous grin. Avatar of Fate or not, Loptur rarely failed when it came to charming females.

Again Verdani laughed, "Your manly charms won't work here, Loptur. Indeed it is not for Loptur Hálogison that I'm here. No, I am here to take something from Loki."

Loptur could not help but blink at this. He had not been in his Loki form since before the battle. Indeed he'd rarely manifest in Midgard as Loki.

"Do not trouble your memories, Hálogison. You do not realize the trick is on the Trickster. You though you would prank the Potter heir but it was both of you the joke was played on. A simple nudge, a barest whisper of ancient magicks and a new life was born. One you carry now unknowingly in your body, hidden by Loptur's face," Verdani said amicably.

"Wait, you are saying that mortal got me pregnant?" Loptur said in disbelief. "How could this be? I wasn't even really there! Just a manifestation of me!"

Verdani shrugged, "You were real enough for him and due to some magic from…an interested party let us say, it was real enough for you. Völva doesn't believe in wasting opportunities no more than my sisters and I do. The want of a future champion can now be met thanks to your mischievous ways. Now a quick bit of magic and then I'm off to give your lovely wife a task."

Before Loptur could say anything, Verdani waved her hand and the various bowls stopped their slow dance. She then bent down and placed a hand on Loptur's stomach. "Fear not Loki for your child-to-be will have a good mother to bear him. She will be familiar to you given it was with her face you tricked the mortal with in the first place."

"Lily!" Loptur said before gasping as it felt like his very soul was being wrenched out of his being as Verdani reached her hand into his abdomen. A pain like nothing he had ever felt cast him into unconsciousness.

Yet before blackness took him, he saw Verdani pull out a blue-white ball of energy and hear her whisper, "It is time for another Lokiborn to be set loose in the Nine Realms!"

**XxXxX**

**INFIRMARY, HOGWARTS, SCOTLAND – JUNE 5****th**** 1996 – EARLY MORNING**

Tonks was surprised that Harry was reacting so well. From what Dumbledore had warned them about, the Headmaster expected Harry to explode into rage. Tonks felt this was pretty likely given Sirius's and his friend's injuries. However Harry certainly didn't look like he was about to go mental. In fact Harry looked like he was frankly bored with the whole situation. Only his intense green eyes showed that he was taking things quite seriously.

Tonks herself wouldn't mind exploding a bit herself. She was still keyed up from the fight at the Ministry. The loss of Sirius was a shock and Tonks couldn't help but feel if she hadn't tripped and fallen while fighting with her aunt then perhaps Sirius might still be alive. Then to be summoned to arrest Harry of all things! Plus Harry was right; she and Shack _should_ be out looking for Voldemort or rounding up past known Death Eaters or their sympathizers.

Kingsley had taken his orders with a mere rising of his eyebrows but Tonks was still at a loss two hours later. Sure the kids had broken the rules but how was rewarding Harry for trying to save his godfather's life and preventing Voldemort from gaining the prophecy with a possible stay in Azkaban even conceivable?

Tonks watched Harry as Shacklebolt told him of the charges. She couldn't understand it! She could see where Harry's left hand was marred by scars which could only have come from a Blood Quill. A specialized tool only used to sign important contracts and certainly not for lines in detention! It was certainly the work of that toad Umbridge but here was Harry being charged with conspiracy with non-human elements to murder her!

The other charges were insane in light of what had happened the night before. She had already been told that none of the other teens would be arrested as accessories to the crimes which they most assuredly were if the charges weren't ludicrous to begin with. Worse they would not have their memories collected as evidence to say nothing of those from adults of the Order that were there! So the Death Eaters that escaped like Lucius Malfoy where going to get away with breaking into the Ministry and attacking schoolchildren!

Tonks would wager a month's pay that the Malfoy fortune was going to take a hit as Lucius probably was already greasing some palms with galleons. That and the fact that some of the Death Eaters captured had been previously broken out of Azkaban. How was putting them back there be seen as a good idea?

Tonks shook her head as she stood to leave so as to give Harry some privacy to change. She knew Dumbledore was renowned for playing a deep, subtle game. Tonks felt that whatever his current plan was had to be so deep that it would take the Goblins years to dig under their vaults to get to it. Dumbledore's assurances this morning of Harry's safety had rung false somehow to her. She looked over her shoulder at the Boy-Who-Lived and again saw how unruffled he seemed.

How so very different from the boy she had help rescued from his relatives ten months ago!

**XxXxX**

**THE VILLAGE OF GODRICS HOLLOW, WALES – APRIL 23****rd**** 1980 – EARLY AFTERNOON**

Lily groaned in pain as she thrashed in her bed. The pain in her abdomen was growing stronger. She needed to focus so she could call for help. At first she thought it was simply back-pain but in the last 20 minutes, the pain had gone from an annoyance to agony.

Of course this would have to happen when both James and Sirius were out and Remus and Peter were both out of the country. As it was, it felt appropriate that today was St. George's day given how it felt the English saint was spearing the dragon in her belly.

"An apt metaphor in a way, yet you are getting the carriage before the thestral, my dear."

A few things happened at once. Lily's pain went away which she barely registered as her wand shot out of its holster to point at the voice which shouldn't exist given the _Acre Fidelium_ ritual Dumbledore had done to hide the cottage. Yet as she drew a bead on the figure of a woman, Lily's jaw could only drop in astonishment as her wand turned into a lily.

"Now none of that, my dear. I'm here to help," the mysterious woman said.

Lily continued to gape as the woman waved her hand and the feeling of sickness and miasma left and returned her wand to normal and back into its place in her wrist-holster. "There, now doesn't that feel better?"

"Who are you?" Lily finally asked. "What are you?" It was obvious this woman was no mere witch. The power coming off of her made Dumbledore's aura feel like that of a First Year!"

"I am a mother and I am here to ensure that someday you will be to. For without my help, that will not happen," the blonde woman said. While dressed in a vaguely Scandinavian dress, the being gave off a feeling of dangerous competence. In fact she radiated the same coiled energy Auror Moody had. The feeling of restrained violence ready at a moment's notice.

Lily clutched her belly, "Is my baby sick?" Dread filled her.

The woman shook her head, "No, your little Rose to be is dead. She died a few moments ago. I'm merely deadening the pain you would still be feeling as your miscarriage continued."

Lily moaned in horror before her analytical mind kicked in, "Wait! That cannot be possible. My child is a child of prophecy. Dumbledore assured James and me of that."

The woman shook her head, "More like James's child is a child of prophecy. Of course the Longbottom's child will fit the prophecy as well. However I am privy to far more than one Sybil Trelawney."

"Again, who are you?" Lily asked, a bit of hysteria starting to creep into her voice.

"Shush, mortal. I told you, I am here to help. As to who I am, I have many names as does my husband. The one you would best know me as would be Sigyn. As to why I am here, well there are many powers at work in the Nine Realms as evidenced by the prophecy you were told. I am here because there are levels to which you Midgardians are not party to."

"Sigyn? Midgardians what are you…" Lily's voice trailed off as the implications of what she had just been told. It began to dawn on her that earlier comparison to Dumbledore as a First Year student were far off the mark. It was more like Dumbledore and a sick baby bowtrunkle!

Yet as amazing as the implications, the woman's (goddess?) earlier words stuck her. "My baby is dead?"

Sigyn nodded with a look of compassion on her face. "Yes. As I said, your daughter Rose is the first casualty in a war being waged on a level much higher than the one you now fight against Voldemort. However I am not without influence. I have already arranged for Rose's nascent soul to be kept safe. If certain things play out, she will be born into the Potter line in the years that shall come to be."

Lily couldn't help but laugh hysterically, "What Potter line? James is all that's left of the family!"

Sigyn shook her head, "That is not true and is also the reason I'm here." The goddess moved to the side of the bed in a movement which was at once casual and sudden. It was as she moved without moving. Before Lily could gasp in surprise, a strong hand was on her abdomen.

"Now would be a good time for you to still your tongue and listen. A few years ago my husband decided James Potter was a good mark for a prank. Ever since he fell at the battle of Ragnarok Fields, he has been bound. Yet he is the Trickster and binding one such as he is difficult. For thousands of your Midgardian years, he has manifested in these lands. He has fathered many in the great families of the Völvaborn. Yet when he came to James, it was in the guise of Loki."

"Loki!" Lily squeaked out.

"Yes my husband Loptur is not bound by form. As Loptur he fathered many wizards but that night is was Loki who seduced James and it was she who unknowingly became pregnant. As I said, there is a war being fought out slowly throughout the Nine Worlds. A war which is often brutal and yet so often so subtle you'd think nothing was happening. Higher powers than I move in very mysterious ways and even one such as my husband can become unwitting players in the struggle," Sigyn explained as waves of warm energy poured from her hand into Lily's stomach.

"It was that night during Sixth Year! We thought it was a cruel attack by some of the Slytherins. We never did find out who it was!' Lily said with a bit of a stutter as the power coursing through here was making her feel drunk and drowsy at the same time.

Sigyn laughed, "Loki wasn't even there in body. She manifested her magic which is enough for mortals to come away with child. Yet a higher power made it so it was enough for Loki to return bearing a child as well. A child I am now transferring to you. While Rose must wait for her time, a son must take her place."

"A son? Loki's son?" Lily asked pointedly.

"And your husband's son. For all he will be a Lokiborn, the boy will still be of James's get. It is much being asked of you, to bear the son of another mother. But families are what we make of them. Before their deaths, I stood friend and mother too many of Loptur's children just as I will to your son after he is born."

"What of me? Won't I be his mother?" Lily asked even as she felt an icy draft of certainty fill her even over the warmth of the goddess' energy pouring into her. Hadn't the goddess said that Rose would be born into the Potter line? That implied a time in the future and to someone other than her. With the war going on that implied just one thing.

Lily looked up from the power coming off the hand on her stomach into eyes which were filled with sadness. "You will be the mother for awhile. You will be, I'm sure, a good mother for I will be taking these memories from you so you can be happy with your husband and new son. Sadly this happiness will not last long. The future is never set in stone yet I have been told of what is likely to happen by one of the Norns what is coming. It is almost a certainty that the Valkyries will be taking your husband to Valhalla."

Lily drunkenly snorted at the thought of James partying in Valhalla. The smirk on Sigyn's face showed the goddess knew what sort of trouble her husband might get into in with such a group.

The smirk faded to be replaced with a thoughtful look. "For you, however, there are options. You have the making of a great Völva with a little training. As with Rose, I can ensure it happens. Do not think of this as recompense for you bearing my husband's son. You have earned it and _will _earn it again in the future," Sigyn said with certainty.

Lily could feel herself fading as the power in stomach was beginning to make her feel like sleep. "That's all I get? Twenty and out?"

Sigyn laughed softly, "Fear not Lily. Death is not the end even for you mortals. These twenty years will give you perspective which will serve you well. Believe me when I say being in Queen Freya's service is neither boring nor is it easy if you choose that path. You will enjoy your next great adventure. Know also true death is rare. The universe constantly reforges us into new beings if we so choose."

"I can choose to be born again?" Lily asked.

Sigyn nodded, "Belief is a powerful thing. Many mortals believe in being born again and again into the Wheel of Life. And for them, they can. Sadly for those of these lands, that is not the case. But you have the choice because of who your mother is."

"My mother? Why is she so special?" Lily asked. She couldn't think of anything except her famous ginger biscuit recipe that set her mum apart from anyone else.

Sigyn smiled enigmatically, "She was special because like Loki's son here, his mother wasn't what she seemed. You and your sister Petunia only share your father Walter in common. Your mother was not from Midgard. The Ollivander clan has been bargaining with the elves of Alfheim to help them in their wand lore for over a millennia. This bargaining often means an elf maiden is held hostage here in Midgard, wedded to an Ollivander. Some go willingly, some rebel after a few years here on Midgard."

Lily's eyes grew wide. She had never liked being in Ollivander's shop. The magic had always been off. While Mr. Ollivander seemed okay, Lily had always felt a wrongness to the shop. Her friends thought it odd that everyone thought Ollivander was creepy yet she felt it was the shop. "The wand shop has been a prison at times, yes?"

Sigyn nodded approvingly, "You empathy proves you are your mother's daughter. You sensed the wrongness. The current wand maker is a good man but he is only one of his clan. Others seeing the signs which would become the evil that was Grindelwald wanted more. The elf maid would not be so basely used. She escaped and hid out with a kindly, if addled wizard while she worked on how to return to Alfheim."

"Addled wizard…Merlin! Do you mean Xenophilius Lovegood? Selene Lovegood is an elf? A high elf you mean?" Lily asked in a tone which did little to hide how astonished she was.

Sigyn nodded again. "Yes, she took the name Selene and married the mortal to hide in plain sight. Yet in the fullness of time one of the Ollivander men got wind of her and was in the process of recapturing her one night. He would have brought her back to their ancestral lands and bound her if your father had not had one too many to drink one night and thus couldn't stop his vehicle in time when a wizard appeared in the road. Selene thanked your father in the carnal way of her people and returned to her husband. Yet after she found she was with child, she decided to hide the pregnancy and give the child, you, up to the father rather than risk the child being at risk due to the Ollivander's."

"I never knew!" Lily said wonderingly. While she understood why her real mother had never contacted her, it hurt her that the few times she'd met Selene Lovegood that she had no inkling she was in fact meeting her mother.

Sigyn shrugged, "Why are you surprised? You Völvaborn use memory charms on ordinary Midgardians all the time. It would be child's place for one born of Alfheim to convince your father and your sister's mother to accept the child as their own. Yet it is because of your lineage that you could choose to accept service to Queen Freya or go into the Faerie realm when Skuld cuts your thread of life short."

Lily blinked, "I thought you said my mother was an elf?"

Sigyn made an airy gesture of negation with her free hand. "Elf, fae or faerie. They are all names used to describe the many different clans of Alfheim. The one you know as Selene is of the Seelie Court and to there you will be welcomed if you so choose. The Fae folk of Alfheim are fickle; they don't believe in absolutes. Death to them is merely a break from what has gone before. Many Fae give up their forms to go down and become a Midgardian for a life. To them it is like putting on a new set of clothes for a time."

"But how…" Lily began but the goddess cut her off.

Rest now, Lily Potter for my work here is almost done. When you awake you believe you had a bit of indigestion and think nothing of it." Sigyn said softly as she touched her index finger to the Lily's nose lightly.

Lily smiled drunkenly as her eyes closed as she drifted off to sleep.

After a few minutes, Sigyn removed her hand from the sleeping witch's stomach. Before she rose, she kissed the witch's forehead tenderly. "Sleep mortal and enjoy what few months you have remaining. We shall be waiting for you when the end comes."

Sigyn stood up and took a deep breath, savoring the oddly flavored air of Midgard. She had been newly in Queen Freya's service the last time she had been on Midgard. She hoped the way of things might change for she thought it might be nice to accompany her husband in some adventures here. Loptur had been right when he had whispered to her how interesting the Midgardians had become.

This thought prompted her to pull out an ornate timepiece. One which help track time and space throughout the Nine Realms. She was cutting it close but she was still within her window to leave unnoticed and be back without anyone, even far-seeing Heimdall the wiser.

Without a sound, Sigyn disappeared leaving the sleeping witch to dream of a precocious red-headed girl who laughed as she tugged her mother along the shores of the sea.

**XxXxX**

**INFIRMARY, HOGWARTS, SCOTLAND – JUNE 5****th**** 1996 – EARLY MORNING**

Harry listened to the charges and his felt his first impression was correct: something wasn't right. At least it felt like he was being set up for another show-trial like the one regarding his brush with the Dementors. So for now, Harry felt he was safe from being disappeared. In some respects, his hated Boy-Who-Lived status was working for him. He was too much of a celebrity to get rid of without properly smearing first. He could afford to wait and plan.

However, there was little he could do with the aurors watching him. He had to get rid of them and hope that Neville wasn't as asleep as he seemed. "Well if you'll just let me get dressed, I guess I'm at your mercy." Harry said dryly.

Harry noticed how Tonks eyebrows looked like they were going to hit her hairline. While Kingsley looked unperturbed, Tonks seemed put out by the whole situation. If Harry's suspicions about the Order murdering Sirius were true it appeared not all of them were in on it if Tonk's reactions were anything to go by. It made sense; Harry doubted someone like Arthur Weasley would ever be party to such a betrayal.

Of course, Harry thought, his parents hadn't suspected Peter Pettigrew and look where that got them!

Shacklebolt nodded to Harry, "I will talk with Madame Pomfrey to see if she needs to send you out with anything." With that both he and Tonks left with the pixie-faced auror looking over her shoulder as if not believing Harry was being so calm about being arrested.

Harry waited till the two aurors could be heard talking to Madame Pomfrey before he turned to the next cot. "Neville!" Harry whispered urgently. Harry was relieved to see his friend's eyes pop open at once. Just as he had hoped, Neville had pretended to be asleep during it all. It was going to save time.

"Harry, what is going on?" Neville whispered back. "This is daft! How can they even think of arresting you? Not to mention why aren't they arresting all of us? We practically forced you into letting us go with you!"

Harry got up and started changing into the clean robes which had obviously been brought in by a house elf to replace his bloody ones from the night before. He noticed his wand was nowhere to be seen; he was pretty sure that Tonks probably had taken it while he slept.

"There is no time for that, Neville," Harry said. "Just listen and keep it low. You're right, something stinks about this and I think I've been done this road with the Ministry before. I'm being set-up and for some reason Dumbledore doesn't look like he's going to ride into the Wizengamot like the Yank cavalry to save me this time." Neville's eyes grew wide with shock but he kept his tongue.

"Neville, I need your help and I'm going to need it fast. I'm not about to go through the excuse of the so called justice system of the Wizengamot without representation. I need a solicitor and I need one fast. Can House Longbottom come through for me?" Harry asked.

Neville thought for a moment and shook his head. "No, Harry I don't think so. Our solicitor is getting on in years and he mainly does strictly business law these day. But I do know of one that might help you." Neville looked unsure, "Although I'm not sure if you would trust him."

"Why not?" Harry asked as he tried to listen to Neville as well as checking to see if either of the aurors was near.

"Well once one of business managers was caught embezzling. The problem was he got himself a solicitor who was all charm and popular with judges and juries so we were worried he'd get away with it. So Gran called in a favor and we retained Martin Creswell." Neville paused till Harry shook his head to show he'd never heard of him. "Well he and the firm he works for is mainly retained by House Greengrass."

Harry's mind immediately went into overdrive as he tried to remember everything he knew about the Greengrasses. He didn't know Daphne Greengrass very well even though they had been paired up on assignments in various classes over the year. While even some in Slytherin called her the "Ice Queen" behind her back due to her aloof attitude, Harry knew Daphne just refused to play the Hogwarts House game.

The first time they had worked together, Daphne had quite succinctly told her she didn't care that he was a Gryffindor or that he was the Boy-Who-Lived. All she cared about was them doing what they needed to do to get a good grade. They hadn't chatted much but he never got the feeling Daphne disliked him.

Hermione had also mentioned from time to time that Daphne kept to herself with many of the others who came from the more neutral houses. His bushy-haired friend had said Daphne made it quite clear to the inter-house study group she and Hermione were in how she was in Hogwarts for an education and not political theater. Apparently she got enough of that in Slytherin care of Draco and other children from parents who had been Death Eaters.

Beyond being quite beautiful (something which just got more so as she matured) Harry appreciated that Daphne found Draco to be as annoying as he did. One of the few bits of info Harry had ever gotten out of the blonde Slytherin was that House Greengrass and House Malfoy did not get along and probably never would.

He knew even less about her sister Astoria other than she was also a pretty blonde like her sister and was a year behind Ginny and Luna. Unlike her sister, Astoria seemed to have a good sense of humor. She had a pleasant laugh he had often heard floating over from the Slytherin table at meal times.

He also had heard Ron complain once about how Romilda Vane was a friend with Astoria. Of course Hermione asked why this was a problem and apparently just being a Slytherin was enough for Ron to think it not seemly for a Gryffindor like Romilda to be friends with her. So it seemed Astoria was like her older sister in not caring for House rivalries.

Harry knew that Daphne normally hung out with her friend Tracey Davis, another pretty Slytherin who was also known to keep clear of Draco and his cronies. Probably because Tracey was one of the few half-bloods in Slytherin. Daphne also was often in the company of Blaise Zabini but that relationship seemed based on sniping at each other in a semi-friendly way.

When he asked Hermione about it, she had said that apparently they had been thrown together for years growing up given how insular the Pureblood community was. Luckily this meant that Neville had gotten to know them the same way. Of course from what Harry had gathered from the Daily Prophet from over the years, House Zabini was not only neutral like House Greengrass but did regular business with them. So it wasn't surprising they hung out together even if they weren't really friends.

All of this quickly flashed through Harry's mind. He didn't have much time to over-analyze it. "Bottom line Neville, what would you do?" Harry asked.

Neville frowned. "I've know both of them for years, seeing them at this function or that. I know Tracey better as she is one of the 'Gardeners' and we talk a lot while we work in the greenhouses. She is certainly pretty..." Neville drifted off a bit as he obviously was thinking about how pretty the Slytherin was.

"Focus Nev! They are both pretty but can I trust them?" Harry asked urgently.

Neville looked guilty but pressed on. "I think so Harry. If I can get to either Tracey or Daphne I can ask. House Longbottom has long been an ally of your house so it won't be seen as anything out of the ordinary. The Potters have generally gotten along with the Greengrasses. In fact I think Daphne's mom and yours were potion partners here at Hogwarts. I'm pretty sure the Potters have married a Greengrass or two. All the pureblood families are related if you go back a bit."

"I think they will help you simply because it puts you into their debt. Now that sounds bad but without knowing more, there has probably been a bit of that going back and forth between your Houses. It may be that House Greengrass owes the Potters a debt and thus they can help you without seeming to be helping you. I mean if anyone asks why they are helping the Boy-Who-Lived they can cover it by saying they are simply repaying an old family debt." Neville finished.

"Sounds like the way the old families act from what you told me. Of course it might just be they want to have the Boy-Who-Live in debt to them. That's got to be worth something, I guess. Considering how Daphne never takes sides, I guessing having an out to explain things will make it more likely they will help, right Nev?" Harry asked. Neville nodded.

"Okay, once I'm out of here, Madame Pomfrey will probably let you go to breakfast considering it was only your nose that was broken. Do what you can." Harry said as he was tying his shoes.

"I will Harry, you can count on me!" Neville said.

"I always have, Nev, and you've never let me down!" Harry replied to the stunned boy. "Oh and Neville, get yourself a new wand quickly. If your Gran tries to give another mismatched family heirloom, I want you to go to Ollivander's and buy a wand and have him charge it to the Potter vaults. Tell him I'm repaying a debt to House Longbottom. He'll believe that especially since it is the truth!"

"Harry..." Neville began.

"No buts, Neville. A mismatched wand could get you killed and almost did last night." Harry said firmly.

"Harry? Are you ready?" Madame Pomfrey's voice called from behind the screens.

Harry reached out and clasped hands with Neville, "Time to face the music."

"Good luck Harry, I'll make sure you get your day in court!" Neville said fiercely.

Harry smiled and walked around to find Shacklebolt and Tonks waiting. Harry's eyes dropped to the hand-cuffs in Shacklebolt's hands. "Are those necessary, Auror Shacklebolt?" Harry asked formally. "I won't be 17 for another month. I thought cuffing minors wasn't something you aurors did unless they were violent or a threat. Without my wand and given my recent fight, I can't see how much of a threat I could be to two trained aurors. Although I must say it is flattering that you would think so."

Tonks look very unhappy but Shacklebolt simply replied, "I have my orders."

Cuffed, Harry was led away from the infirmary. He tried to catch a glimpse of the girls, especially Hermione, but he only saw Luna, her eyes narrow and angry at the sight of him being taken away. He was then marched through the hallways, startling the occasional early-bird student.

Harry's suspicions of a set-up where practically cemented when he was taken towards the main gates by cutting through the Great Hall. Five years at Hogwarts and sneaking around with the Marauder's Map had taught him that they had to have wanted to come this way since there where many faster ways to get to the apparition point outside the wards.

While not crowded, the Hall had plenty of students who pointed and talked in hushed tones as he passed. Harry knew the famed rumor mill of Hogwarts would have most of the student body knowing of this within a few hours. By dinner, people who weren't even there at breakfast would be talking of how he had been taken away restrained in chains on a cart or some other outlandish tale. It would be another repeat of Second and Fourth year, Harry was sure.

Harry saw that none of the teachers where present at the staff table and that the aurors could have easily saved time by flooing out from Dumbledore's office. Come to think of it, there was a Floo connection in the infirmary, Harry thought. This further proved someone wanted Harry to be seen by as many people as possible under arrest. He was being made an example of but by whom?

Certainly Fudge had been gunning for Harry since the end of the Tri-Wizard Tournament but that was because of his refusal to refute his story of Voldemort's return. Given how the cat was out of the bag, it didn't make sense for Fudge to continue to work against him especially with how it seemed that Dumbledore was backing him up. Weren't both Tonks and Shacklebolt in the Order?

Harry tried to think of what had changed since he had last seen Dumbledore before last night. That had been back in his office before he had escaped from Fudge with Fawkes. He couldn't see his actions since that time being a problem. He hadn't taken any overt action after the discovery of the D.A. that would reflect badly on anyone. Given Dumbledore's relationship with the centaurs, Harry couldn't see what happened to Umbridge mattering that much to him either. It had to come back to Sirius Black...or did it? Sirius was dead and out of the picture so he couldn't be the danger that Harry suspected him to be whatever Dumbledore seemed to have done.

Maybe it was the cool morning air which got his brain going but it suddenly hit him as they left the castle. The real prophecy! Dumbledore must suspect he knew it! That's why he had tried to read his mind twice! That he failed must meant he couldn't be sure. Harry realized that Dumbledore had probably been reading his mind since Day One so there was a good chance that the Old Man already knew how he had 'heard' part of the fake prophecy.

It made sense. Dumbledore could hardly ask him about it without tipping his hand that he had seen in Harry's mind what Harry himself had accidentally seen in Snape's. That Dumbledore had done nothing since he had seen those memories implied that Dumbledore did eventually mean to tell Harry the full, if fake, prophecy.

Harry knew this had to be the answer! Having heard the real prophecy before it was destroyed meant there was no amount of grandfatherly posturing that Dumbledore could do to cover up his role in Harry's life. Harry had always seen coming to Hogwarts from the Dursleys as being rescued from Hell. Harry now wondered if that had been part of the plan; to make Harry look up to the man that made it possible. His earlier worries about the mind-magicks didn't help.

Even so, the issue now was what was the reason he was being arrested so publicly? Was his arrest another plot? A good cop/bad cop ploy to possibly buy Dumbledore some time and to score some easy points with Fudge to help ease himself back into his post as Headmaster? Or was this something deeper. Harry knew how Dumbledore like to play the deep game. He'd been the pawn in such games since coming to Hogwarts.

"Have you ever done side-along apparition, Harry?" Tonks asked as they came up to the edge of the school's wards not far from Hagrid's hut.

"Yes and I already hate it," Harry said darkly, not liking how Tonks was trying to break some of the tension. Right now Harry preferred the sense of impeding trouble; it made him feel more on edge and ready to fight if necessary.

"Well then, Mr. Potter, I'm sure you will hate this as well," Shacklebolt said as he took Harry's arm. Tonks had already disappeared and Harry tried to clench his stomach before...

Harry gasped as the squeezed-through-a-tube feeling suddenly left him. Again he felt like he wanted to hurl but the bright lights of the room they appeared in distracted him long enough for his stomach to settle. From the looks of it, Harry guessed he was in some sort of Auror facility given the red robes and the cheap, generic bureaucratic look of the furniture.

Kingsley gave him a prod towards one of the desk where a sandy-haired man sat doing paper-work. Unlike the other Aurors in the room, this wizard didn't seem as dangerous. That was until he looked up at Harry with a gleam in his eye.

"Well, well, well; if it isn't the murdering Harry Potter. I think we have a vacant cell in Azkaban which should suit you just fine. For an assassin like yourself, I'd think Sirius Black's old cell would suit a bloke like you perfectly," the unnamed wizard said with an air which was a cross between Percy Weasley and Dolores Umbridge.

Harry felt a stabbing numbness shoot down his arms at the man's words. It was obvious that Tonks knew how cruel they were as she quickly snapped, "That was uncalled for Smith. And last time I checked we don't put minors in Azkaban and certainly not before they've received a trial!"

"Don't get your knickers in a twist, Tonks. I'm sure we'll have Mr. Potter here in Azkaban quite legally soon enough," the man called Smith said with a sneer.

Harry didn't recognize the sandy-haired man, but he had a look about him that reminded him of Zacharias Smith to say nothing of his attitude. Was he a relative? The lion and serpent in him told him to go for it.

"He's right Tonks; he's not worth getting worked up over. As for the cell, I'm sure it will be fine considering my godfather was innocent and so am I. I'm more interested to know how it feels to be sitting on one's duff all day filling out forms. What's up with that Auror Smith? Not good enough to actually go out and catch bad guys?" Harry asked mockingly.

The sharp intake of breath and sudden flush told Harry that he had been right in one about the man. Before the verbal sparring could continue, Kingsley spoke up, "That's enough out of all of you. Smith, he's here, check him in. We're expected and we're late enough as it is."

Smith glowered at the bald auror but it was obvious to Harry who had the rank (and the power) in the relationship. Muttering under his breath he filled out a form before directing Harry to place both his thumbs on the paper. A slight tingle and his finger-prints appeared on the paper.

During all this Harry tried to gauge the mood of the room. Besides Smith, there were about eight other aurors in the room. They looked to him like a quick reactionary force. In one sense it seemed like a good idea given how with apparition and the Floo, it was easier to keep a team ready to go all at once. Yet Harry had to wonder that with such tools, wouldn't it be better to have these aurors out on the streets patrolling since they could converge at will?

It was true that the aurors looked bored. Most didn't seem hostile but it was hard to tell if that was because they were indifferent or just bored. Harry didn't think hanging around waiting for a call would be what an auror recruit that they'd be doing when they signed up and took on the badge.

Finally Smith filled out all the correct paperwork although he did so with the same annoying air of Zacharias which had irritated Harry so many times during the D.A. sessions. He imagined this was how Percy would be like if he was an auror instead of a Ministry lackey.

Kingsley once again nudged Harry towards a door. This was getting on Harry's nerves. "You know, Auror Shacklebolt, I am perfectly capable of following simple instructions. I don't need to be prodded like a crup."

This only elicited a stronger shove to which Tonks rolled her eyes at. Harry could tell she wasn't happy but didn't have the rank to say anything. So in silence the trio walked down a long corridor which was rather dimly lit for a Ministry building. Occasionally they'd pass an auror or some Ministry functionary but for the most part it seemed they were trapped in one long corridor which occasionally had a door at odd intervals.

"We're not trapped in some sort of time loop are we? I seem to have left my sonic screwdriver in my other robe," Harry quipped.

Tonks snorted but Kinglsey just sighed, "Perhaps now would be a good time to keep your comments to yourself, Mr. Potter."

"And why's that Kingsley? You both are in the Order? Yet I feel like I'm being marched off to be shot. Is the Daily Prophet going to report tomorrow that I was killed while fleeing or perhaps while resisting arrest?" Harry asked in a breezy tone he didn't feel. If anything the numbness he had felt earlier at Smith's comments had moved to pretty much his entire body.

"Harry!" Tonks said in a voice which at once showed she was scandalized and yet worried of the possibility.

"Order or not, Mr. Potter, we both have our orders. Rest assured Headmaster Dumbledore knows of your predicament and is working on the issue," Kingsley said smoothly.

"Oh well if Dumbledore is one my side, whatever could go wrong? I mean it's not like anyone I know was injured or killed because of something Dumbledore did…or more importantly didn't do."

"Harry!" This time it was obvious Tonks was shocked at the sarcastic irreverence Harry was showing to Dumbledore.

Harry could almost feel the frown on Kingsley's face behind him, "Auror Tonks and I have better things to do than listen to your teenage naïve insinuations. Now be quiet; we're almost there."

Harry raised an eyebrow at Tonks who looked confused at Kingsley's cool attitude. Normally the big man was affable and approachable. Now he reminded Harry of Dawlish. These thoughts were cut off as they finally came to the end of the seemingly endless corridor. The door looked more like a hatch in a submarine. It even had a circular handle like one saw on Muggle military ships.

Tonks cranked the hatch open and motioned for Harry to enter. Harry wished the look on Tonks's face gave him something other than disquiet. Maybe he really _was_ going to be disappeared!

The room Harry entered seemed like a slightly more posh version of the room Smith had been in. It had the desk, the files, lots of filing cabinets, bookshelves and the functionary behind the desk working on stacks of paperwork. As Harry took in the room, a flying paper airplane zoomed in and landed in an already overflowing in-box.

The wizard looked up and then immediately went back to whatever form he was working on, "You two can go. I will take it from here," the wizard said in a bored voice.

"Our orders were to escort the prisoner…" Tonks began.

"I'm well aware of what you orders were, young lady. I'm telling you I'm taking it from here. You have escorted the prisoner and now I will be taking custody of him. Please close the door securely as you leave. Most of you aurors never dog it enough no matter how many times I complain," the wizard said in a voice which was bored and dismissive all at the same time.

Harry realized he was seeing Percy Weasley 50 years from now. It wasn't a pleasant picture.

Beyond Tonks's indignant huff, Harry could tell both aurors complied and soon enough the hatch was being closed behind him. After a bit, Harry could hear the two auror's footsteps retreating back down that long corridor.

Harry watched as the wizard continued to work. One minute stretched out to two then three and then more. The silence was broken only by the relentless scratching of the wizard's quill. Harry was tempted to say something but he quickly realized this was some sort of power-play by the wizard. It was something he'd expect out of Umbridge that was for sure.

After what could have been a half an hour, the wizard finally spoke up, "Do you know why you are here Mr. Potter?"

"Is this a trick question? I've been formally charged with various crimes according to Auror Shacklebolt. I'm sure you know this as well as I do," Harry said trying to emulate the wizard's unaffected air.

The wizard looked up with an irritated look on his face, "I certainly do and if I were you I'd take things much more seriously."

Harry shrugged, "I have low expectations when it comes to the Ministry. I warned the Minister a year ago about the danger of Voldemort. For that matter, the Chief Warlock knew that Voldemort was not as dead as you lot think back in 1991. Yet here I am, being accused of certain crimes committed while I fought Death Eaters. Funny how I can be threatened with expulsion over doing magic in front of my cousin who already knew I was a wizard and I'm accused of trying to kill a witch who was one syllable away from using an Unforgivable Curse on me."

The wizard looked at Harry with disdain. For a moment, Harry wondered if he was related to Umbridge given his gaze had a reptilian feeling to it. Cold and lifeless. Finally the wizard took a deep breath, "Yes well it seems obvious that you are not mentally capable enough for a trail. Your deluded ramblings make that clear. _**Perkins**_!"

At the call, there was the sound of a chair scraping across the floor in an adjoining room. One of the two doors in the cluttered room opened up and a red-haired wizard came in. Harry blinked in surprised and then couldn't help but snort at realizing it was Percy. It seemed no one could remember his name!

"You called for me, Mr. Rutledge?" Percy asked quickly as he seemed to vibrate with the need to please.

"Of course I called for you Beasley! Are you an idiot? Don't answer that! Of course you are an idiot because idiots are all that I'm surrounded with. Get me one an **A** portkey given how Mr. Potter here has proven him mentally incapable of standing trial."

Percy looked at Harry with a gleam in his eye. "An A portkey, Mr. Rutledge? Don't you mean a **S** portkey? I'm sure a deluded lunatic like Potter could do with a stay at…"

"Are you deaf Perkins? I said AAYY Porrrrt-keeey. Do you need me to write it out? Don't answer that! I'd be surprised if you knew your letters. What _are_ they teaching at Hogwarts these days? Not get me an **A** portkey, that is Alpha, or Apple and comes before B, you knuckle-dragging half-wit!" the wizard ranted with relish.

Harry's heart sank. He had a bad feeling where the **A** and **S** portkeys might go. The latter probably went to Saint Mungo's given Percy's comment. It didn't talk much imagination where the **A** portkey would send him.

"Excuse me, but don't I get some form of counsel or something. You know, innocent before guilty and having my rights explained to me. I am the heir to an Ancient and Most Noble family after all; minor or not," Harry said trying not to let any of his rising panic show. He'd seen how bad Hagrid had looked after only a short stretch in Azkaban. He wasn't keen on finding out how bad it was first hand if he could avoid it.

"You have what rights we give you, Mr. Potter," Mr. Rutledge said snappishly to go along with the finger he was snapping at Percy to hurry him along. In short order Percy had retrieved a small cube with an ornate A stamped on the top. Harry noted it was the right size to fit a small square indent on his magical hand-cuffs.

Sure enough Percy placed the cube into the indent with a click. He grinned at Harry before tapping his wand onto the stamped A. "Have a nice trip!"

Before Harry could say anything witty in reply, the familiar tug behind his navel jerked him from across space in a dizzying whirl of perceptions. If he hadn't been so disoriented, Harry would be rather proud he managed to not only keep from hurling but stayed on his feet.

This feeling of personal triumph lasted only long enough for the coldness to strike him. Harry tensed as he turned towards the strongest feeling of cold. Harry's heart fell; he knew all to well what the coldness meant. Sure enough there was a door with a window with bars on it. Behind it was a Dementor.

"Welcome to Azkaban, Mr. Potter!" said a voice from behind him. "I'm sure you will enjoy your stay with us. I know we all we enjoy it."

**XxXxX**

**A/N**: I'm sure most of you will probably notice that right off the bat Neville is important. From much of fanon, we've seen over and over that House Potter and Longbottom have been allies, so I have always felt Neville should have played a bigger role in Harry's life. Plus since Harry was picked on and mistreated for much of his life, I would think it would be natural for him to want to help Neville. So here will be a lot of belated HP/NL camaraderie which I highlighted much earlier in _Paging Dr. Bell_.

**Chapter Length**: Chapter size will oscillate a bit as some chapter arcs are big or smaller than others. This chapters is larger than what I've been shooting for but breaking it up more would have been too confusing.

**Martin Creswell**: Readers of _HP and the Rejected Path_ and Hogwarts U might notice that in those fics, Lilith's brother is an intern at Creswell's firm.

**Magical Beings & Deities Introduced**

Verdani: The middle aspect of The Norns. Verdani is the mother aspect who measures out the threads of Fate.

Skuld: The later aspect of The Norns. Skuld is the grandmother aspect who cuts the threads to the desired length before weaving them into the Wyrd.


	5. Dark Reflections - Part I

**DISCLAIMER THE FIRST: **_It is by JKR's writing alone I set my mind in motion. It is by the grace of coffee that thoughts acquire speed, the back acquires strains, the strains become a warning. The warning is that I make no money from this. It is by JKR's writing alone I set my mind in motion._

**PITHY STATEMENT RELATING TO THIS CHAPTER**: "_The real man smiles in trouble, gathers strength from distress, and grows brave by reflection._" **Thomas Paine** – English and American political activist, philosopher, political theorist and revolutionary (1736-1809)

**LAST UPDATED**: 02-09-2015

**XxXxX**

**CHAPTER FIVE – DARK REFLECTIONS – PART I**

**XxXxX**

**CELL 13, D-BLOCK**, **AZKABAN, NORTH SEA - ?**

The cell was dirty and the walls covered in scratches. Many looked like doodles done by a bored inmate, another set looked to be a calendar. Harry had often wondered what Sirius had done in prison to pass the time

Now he knew.

Under some straw he found what looked to be a chess board made of odds and ends. Harry could almost see Sirius playing himself, maybe even cursing himself as he checkmated himself. Harry wondered if he might have even cursed himself only to taunt himself for losing. Given how bad Sirius had been when Harry had first met him, it seemed possible.

That level of derangement was something Harry was keen to avoid. Harry could feel the Dementors chill all around him. He knew they would soon overcome their initial fear of him. The Warden had remarked how the Dementors seemed '_a bit shy today_' while taking Harry to Sirius's old cell. Harry couldn't help but think they remembered him and perhaps feared the one who had driven off so many of them to save Sirius.

So far the worst bit of Azkaban was the general condition. They were truly medieval in the truest sense of the word. His cell might as well have been built a few hundred years ago given that there was nothing modern about it. There was no bed, just a straw-filled excuse for a mattress (complete with a straw-filled pillow) along with a scratchy wool blanket and that was about it. Rings on the wall showed were prisoners could be chained as if being in a barren cell surrounded by Dementors wasn't enough.

The only nod to any sort of comfort was a small bucket with a lid. Harry quickly found that after a moment, any bodily waste in it was vanished. Beyond the sanitary bucket, there was no chair, no table. Nothing but the small window with heavy bars which only afforded a depressing view of the seemingly perpetual stormy seas around the island. Harry had to wonder how any prisoner survived for any length of time under such conditions.

The cellblock was cold and not just from the Dementor's chill. The open window blowing in moist ocean air didn't help. Neither did the cold stone which made up the floor, walls and ceiling. Harry knew wizards were tougher than Muggles but between the cold, the Dementors and the pitiful excuse for food fed to prisoners, Harry wondered how Sirius had survived 12 weeks, never mind 12 years!

The realities of his cellblock had quickly brought up many things that Harry couldn't explain. It distracted him from the memories he apparently had gotten from Voldemort's mind. It distracted him from wondering why he was in prison. It distracted him from thinking about his life and how Dumbledore had been manipulating it from the beginning.

It had started almost from the first day of his incarceration. From the popping sounds he heard, it was obvious that food was delivered to the prisoners via house-elves. Given their ability to pop in and out of even Hogwarts' wards, this made sense to Harry. Yet for his first week or so, an auror brought him his meals.

Each time the auror in question seemed surprised at how well Harry seemed to be fairing. Certainly the food was bad but years at the Dursleys had made Harry used to meager meals. The cold didn't bother him either. Then again, cold and Harry had always gotten along. A good thing too given how little Petunia had cared about his well-being growing up. Harry was sure a normal child would have probably died of pneumonia with the winter clothes Harry had had to use.

Harry liked the cold and it made summers in Surrey that much more dreadful especially when he'd been locked up in his cupboard or room. The snows around Hogwarts or the bitingly cold wind while playing Quidditch was something Harry relished. Quite a few people had commented on his resistance to the cold (usually Hermione) but Harry hadn't given it much thought. The cold didn't seem to bother Hagrid either so Harry had always figured it was one of those odd family traits he had observed in his time at Hogwarts.

Luna wasn't the only one with bit of weirdness. Su Li in Ravenclaw was empathic which kept her at arms-length from most people. Garvin Summerby, a Hufflepuff in Cedric's year, had hearing which was uncanny. Harry never had found out if Madam Hooch's eyes gave her better vision but it seemed like it. That and he had to wonder if Professor Sprout had some innate family trait which made her skin tougher. So many of the plants they had studied in Herbology had thorns and yet Harry had never seen Professor Sprout get stuck even when handling magical roses which were notorious for their thorns.

Closer to his own history, in Third Year, the History of Magic textbook had a bit about lots of wizards of House Potter were often noted sailors when they weren't fighting Dark Wizards. Maybe being on the cold ocean helped developed the trait. Given how Hagrid and Flitwick proved magic trumped genetics, Harry thought it possible for magic to imbue a family with a useful trait over a few hundred years. It might be another reason Ancient Houses had an edge. So his ability to shrug off the cold had never seemed a big deal as opposed to him being a Parselmouth.

Now, however, Harry was having to reevaluate this position. There seemed to be a lot more going on than just a family quirk of magic. This had become apparent the first time he had woken up from a nightmare to find his pallet covered in ice. Ice thick enough that it took a bit of push to break it. What was worrisome (to put it mildly) was there wasn't a hint of ice anywhere else in the room.

It took him sleeping a few times before he realized something. When awake, the Dementors didn't seem to affect him. While he certainly felt a feeling of dread when a Dementor went by his cell, gone was the sound of his mother pleading with Voldemort. Yet upon waking, her voice was often in his ears as was the green flash of the Killing curse before his eyes. It seemed sleeping was not the "_prisoner's release_" for him. It was during the nights when he had the familiar nightmare that Harry would awaken with ice all over his bed. Occasionally the ice would cover much of the floor around his sleeping pallet after a really bad nightmare.

As mystifying (and frightening) as this was, Harry had another oddity to contend with. He hadn't given it much thought at the time when Remus had pointed it out at the DoM, but on the mornings when he awoke surrounded by ice; his skin developed a bluish hue. The more ice, the darker the blue. Harry had found by chance that this phenomenon wasn't limited to him sleeping. One bitingly cold night when sleep wouldn't come, the full moon's light had flooded his cell for about 20 minutes. In that time, Harry could tell that again his flesh had turned blue. He also found that his hair had turned hard and spiky. He couldn't tell if it changed color as well but Harry the little body hair he did have had gone noticeably white.

So what could the blue skin and white hair mean? Was it a side-effect of him breaking Dumbledore's magical hold on him? Could it be after all the weirdness in his life, from Dumbledore's magic, to basilisk venom, phoenix tears and Voldemort's dark magic that his body was reacting in some way? All Harry knew was it was related to cold and ice.

While the blue would fade in time, Harry felt lucky that his meals after a week began to be delivered by a house elf. He wasn't sure he wanted his jailors to know about his transformations and as the days went by, Harry found it took longer for the blue hue of his skin to fade.

It joined the long list of oddities in Harry's life which he had little knowledge and even less control over.

**XxXxX**

**HAFNARBORG****, VANAHEIM – A LONG TIME AGO IN A REALM FAR, FAR AWAY**

Sigyn breathed in the cool seaside air with relish as she walked down the gangplank with practiced ease. She had spent far too much time in Asgard away from the salt-tint air of the seas of the land of her birth. She had missed the cries of the seagulls, the bustle as ships loading and off-loading while merchants of all stripes argued over tariffs and prices.

But as much as she wished she could just wander the city she had spent much of her younger years in, Sigyn knew it was best to get to her business quickly. She could wander later as it would give better cover for the real reason for her visit. Even before she had become Loptur's wife, her status as one of the elites of the Vanir made her coming and going unnoticed very difficult.

Indeed many called out to her. Some she knew from her earlier times in Hafnaborg and others were battle-companions of old. Luckily all went back to their business. Sigyn smiled at this. So unlike the busy-body Asgardians who either got into your business or dragged you off to the nearest ale-house if you let them. Her people were a passionate people but one who valued personal space.

After threaded her way through the port's merchant quarters, Sigyn made her way to a residential section of the city not far from the more scholarly businesses held sway. She was to meet an old companion, Geirahöd, whose husband was a scribe working to keep track of the bustle of trade in and out of Hafnaborg. It was a task well suited for his quiet disposition.

Sigyn couldn't help but chuckle at this. Geirahöd was anything but quiet. Few could forget the ululating cry Geirahöd used in battle. It somehow could cut through the noise of battle and struck fear into her foes. She was brash, impatient and foolhardy. Luckily for her, she was also death with a sword or spear. Still, her rashness was what had put her into Sigyn's debt all those years ago.

A debt Sigyn had to call in today. A debt she felt might fall quiet heavy on the family.

Sigyn tried not to think of this as she set her face into a more pleasant mien as she knocked on the door. Immediately dogs began to bark which didn't surprise Sigyn in the least. Valkyries often took battle hounds home when the dog's days of fighting were done. Sigyn herself had quite the kettle of them herself

A servant finally opened the door (after much cursing at the excited hounds) and showed commendable restraint in keeping the surprise off his face. Even so, he quickly brought her inside and babbled about the honor she brought the house. A quick word sent him off to fetch his mistress.

The man-servant returned and bade Sigyn to follow as Geirahöd was in bed with her young child who was recovering from a slight illness.

Sigyn followed and soon found herself in an airy room with wide windows which let in the refreshing wind and sunlight. In the large bed, her friend Geirahöd was playing peek-a-boo with a giggling girl child. Sigyn smiled at the sight. Then her smile froze on her face as she recalled why she was here.

"My Lady Sigyn, forgive me for not getting up. Hilda here decided she needed to get sick just like her mother. Fates be praised the both of us are on the mend," Geirahöd said in way of greeting.

Sigyn nodded at this. For someone of her stature, more respect was due. Yet the Valkyries rarely stood on protocol other than to Queen Freya. Among the oath-sisters, there was a bond which transcended one's station or rank.

"So Sigyn, what brings you back to Hafnaborg? It's been many long years since you've visited. Is there a problem? Beyond many of the ship's captains telling of odd weather and unrest in foreign ports, we've seem to have missed some of the odd happenings since the Battle of Ragnarok Fields," Geirahöd asked.

Sigyn just looked at her old battle-companion and cursed herself. She had thought she was ready for this and had all the appropriate things to say already thought out. Her disquiet must have showed on her face as Geirahöd frowned.

"My Lady, what is it? You look like you are here with ill news," Geirahöd asked, ignoring her daughters continued attempts to grab her braids.

"Geirahöd, my old companion, I do indeed bring ill-news. It makes my heart heavy with regret but we both are warrior women. Born to duty, bound by our oaths and resolute in our course. The Battle of Ragnarok Fields has brought an end to one war but the opening moves to the next war have already been made by those in the higher planes. I am here, my friend, because I need to call in the debt your family owes to help counter those moves," Sigyn said gravely.

Geirahöd said nothing but stared at Sigyn with calculating eyes. Finally she sighed, "I can tell the price I must pay for you saving not only my life but that of my husband and first-born is going to be high. What is it that I must do?"

Sigyn shook her head, "No, dear Geirahöd, there is nothing you can do. Nothing but grieve for the lost days to come. As much as I wish the debt could be paid in service from either you or your husband, it is not to be."

Geirahöd scowled, "Bjarni's beard is not yet full and Elíná is hardly of age to be married off. I doubt Hilda here can do any good service."

Sigyn shook her head again, "That is where you are wrong, my friend. Hilda is exactly the age needed to set plans into motion."

Geirahöd face went slack with shock as she hugged the baby girl to her tightly, "What? Whatever use could you have for my baby?"

Sigyn took a step forward and placed a reassuring hand on her friend's, "Your daughter is going to do her duty. The Norns themselves are involved else I would not ask this of you. However, fear not, what is asked will take your daughter from you for a time, it shall not be for long."

Geirahöd shocked look changed to apprehension, "The Norns? Heimdall's eyes! What are you sending my daughter into?"

Sigyn sighed, "I cannot tell you much. What I can tell you is Hilda is to be sent to Midgard where she will be placed in a home of the Völvaborn. There her only duty will to be a child. From what I have gathered with my own _seiᵭr _readings is that your daughter will have to stay on Midgard till she is around 16 or 17 in mortal years."

Geirahöd frowned, "That's it? Beyond the need for a little sorcery to enable to age at the rate of a Midgardian, what else is to be done?"

Sigyn nodded, "That is about it, my friend. The end game is her life, the life she lives on Midgard will be available for another to take up. When this is done, Hilda will be returned. Sadly it will be difficult for her. It might be she may wish to return to Midgard after the situation is resolved to live more years there. Or she may look up on and learn to love you like a mother who had no other course but to give her up. Either way, she will be living in an area where she will learn the ways of magic. So the time will not be wasted as it might be if she was fostered out to a normal Midgardian."

Geirahöd looked down at her baby who had drifted off to sleep, "A little more than a score of Midgardian years. But a blink to us. How odd to have a baby daughter one day and then in but a season to have her return a young maiden. Losing all those early days. My time as her mother gone."

Sigyn nodded with a sad smile, "True but at least the sands of time work for us. Better she grow up in one season than she be gone for years upon end, only to return when her brothers are grandfathers and their memories of her are dim. I know this is a hard thing my friend. I know you will undoubtedly will rage and mayhap destroy many things around the house when this sinks in…"

"…you know me so well," Geirahöd broke in with her own sad (yet quirky) smile.

"…but in the end, your daughter is one of the first to be called in to keep the balance. Worse, the forces clearly intend for my husband to be drawn into this future fight. Something neither he nor I wish. Your daughter's service will go far to helping us avoid that," Sigyn said seriously.

Geirahöd eyes rose in surprise, "High stakes indeed." She looked down at her sleeping daughter for a moment before asking, "So who is to take up my daughter's life? Is that something I can ask?"

Sigyn shook her head, "No…but I will tell you anyway for I know you will tell no one, not even the Queen. My husband is not as bound as it might appear. Even in chains he has managed to get into trouble. This time, however, the trick is upon the Trickster and in doing so he left a Lokiborn on Midgard. In the fullness of time, Loki's son will come into his own. But he will have to contend with many forces, not the least of which is his true parentage. He must stay _where_ he is but cannot stay _as_ he is. You daughter's life-to-be will be his to assume."

Geirahöd chuckled, "Well if my life is anything to go by, my Hilda will give Loki's child quite a life to live up to. Good thing I come from such a long line of women who never cottoned much with skirts and dolls. It will be a bit easier for him."

Sigyn smiled in return, "That, my dear friend, I never doubted."

Geirahöd looked up with a somber look, "This son of Loki; you both are in the same boat that I am to sail in. He will be raised by others, not knowing who he is and what he could be."

Sigyn smiled faded, "Yes. We had put off more children before and now this child is lost to us for now. It might be that Loki might speak to him in dreams but yes, we both will not be able to hug this child till certain prophecies are fulfilled. So like you, my husband and I must watch others raise the child and hope he will forgive us when we finally meet."

**XxXxX**

**CELL 13, D-BLOCK**, **AZKABAN, NORTH SEA - ?**

Harry paced his cell, following a groove in the floor he knew Sirius had walked over and over in the 12 years of his imprisonment.. After the initial two week or so (it was hard to tell given how dark it was even during the day) Harry had come to terms with the mystery of his blue skin condition. If anything, it meant he was immune to the cold which seemed was just another control on the prisoners.

With nothing to do and no human contact, Harry had plenty of time to think. And there was a lot to think about. The first issue was Voldemort's memories. They had threatened at times to overwhelm him and steal away his sense of self. Yet these very same memories held the key to locking them away. Harry had luckily found the memories of when the young Tom Riddle had learned Occlumency. From those memories, Harry was able to order his mind in a way which shunted Riddle's memories in a corner and wall them off.

In time, Harry would go through them. Voldemort had learned many things and while some of them were unspeakably vile, there was plenty that Harry wanted (and needed) to learn if he was going to survive the tug-of-war between Voldemort and Dumbledore. However, no matter how tempting it was to take a short-cut in his magical education, it was difficult to sort through the memories for what he wanted without getting lost in Voldemort's life.

In the process of this doing this, Harry was able to begin ordering his own thoughts and memories. Every day brought more clarity to his mind. Between the Occlumency and the removal of Dumbledore's mind-magicks, Harry was starting to look back at things and see them in a very different light. There were so many things which sent up red flags that Harry had to wonder if others had their minds warped by spell work.

That or they were willingly were helping the Headmaster. Molly Weasley's actions easily stood out. With five children in or graduated from Hogwarts by the time of Harry's first year, Mrs. Weasley would certainly know where Platform 9 ¾ was. That was up and beyond the fact there was no reason for her to be on the Muggle side given the Floo access was on the other side. So right there, Harry was being set up.

Of course Harry had to be careful and not fall to Mad-Eye's sort of paranoia. Yet it was difficult when so many things didn't make sense. Sending Hagrid to pick him up was great if you wanted to intimidate the Dursleys but that almost guaranteed more bad feelings between him and his relatives. Even accepting the need for Hagrid, why did they go to Diagon Alley alone? It would have made so much more sense for Hagrid to collect him and then drop him off with all the rest of the Muggleborns or raised when Professors McGonagall and Sprout took them to get their school supplies.

From the moment Hagrid came through the door to when Ron sat down with him on the Hogwarts Express, Harry had suspicions. He now knew there would have been plenty of room on the Express. So Ron had either knowingly gone to his compartment or had been spelled to seek him out. There were so many little things like that which didn't look like much individually but took on more a sinister aspect when taken collectively.

His time from learning about magic to his first trip to Hogwarts was just the tip of the iceberg. Through the long, cold hours, Harry went through his memories and found instance after instance where things either didn't add up or made Harry wonder how no one else never said a word. The amount of times Dumbledore simply gave an order, no matter how stupid or illogical, and people obeyed him made Harry very uncomfortable. It was one thing to privately joke with Hermione about how bad wizards were with logic but Harry now felt there was something far more insidious going on.

He knew Madam Pomfrey had to be under some influence. Even a green intern should have picked up the very noticeable evidence of the abuse and neglect the Dursleys had heaped upon him. Knowing what he did now about Horcruxes from Voldemort's own memories, Harry couldn't believe that neither Madam Pomfrey or Dumbledore could have missed the utter evil pulsing under his curse scar.

The other teachers were also either in league with Dumbledore or were like Madam Pomfrey under some sort of control. It was hard for Harry to tell. The very hands-off nature of the teachers at Hogwarts was odd. Even more odd than how so few adults there were supposed to be able to properly managed so many teenagers. The fact that these teenagers were all armed with a probability warping wand made the lack of adult supervision even more maddeningly suspicious. Was it because it made for fewer people Dumbledore needed to keep tabs on?

So many questions; so few answers.

So many things he had taken for granted or shrugged off now seem suspect under reexamination. How had three first years gotten through the traps on the third floor unless they were meant too? It was so blindingly obvious to him now that Harry had to be sure Hermione must have similar mind-magicks binding her. His friend's sharp mind wouldn't have missed how the traps were oh so conveniently tied to skills that he, Ron and Hermione had. Indeed the Devil's Snare fit Neville's skill set as well in case he had joined them instead of being left stunned on the floor.

Worse was how any competent wizard could have beaten those traps! Harry now knew that the room filled with the flying keys could have been easily defeated with a sharp eye and a simple _Accio_ spell. While it hadn't been obvious to Hermione and him at the time, Harry realized now that the vials of potions had to have a refill charm on them since Quirrell had gone through first. Thus a simple diagnostic spell he had learned in second year Charms could have told him which vial had been refilled.

Then there was the idea that defied imagination that Voldemort could possess a teacher for over a year without Dumbledore noticing. If anything, one would expect Snape to notice given his own Dark Mark and proximity to the Dark Lord when he had confronted Quirrell.

Snape! Harry paused in his pacing and then punched the wall. He'd been doing that a lot lately out of frustration. Finding through Voldemort's memories that it had been Snape who had relayed the false prophecy to the Dark Lord had given Harry all the more reason to hate his Potions professor. This was compounded by the memory of Snape begging for his mother's life, all the while that it was obvious Snape didn't care if Harry or his father died in the process.

Harry inspected his fist and then grunted. Good, he hadn't bloodied his knuckles like he'd done a few times before. Thinking about Snape just riled him up. It was better to try and shove his thoughts and feelings about Snape into the same dark space he had Voldemort's memories locked behind.

Harry resumed his pacing. He tried to keep as active as he could. Harry had never been much into fitness but with Oliver's relentless training regime in his first three years, Harry had quickly found the benefits of continuing to keep physically fit. It had certainly helped him during the Tri-Wizard's Tournament. Of course Harry was limited to what he could do in his cell but even things like push-ups, some of the Wizarding equivalent of yoga and running place was better than just sitting around for hours on end.

Harry had gotten good at being able to pace while in deep thought and knowing when he had to turn. Which was good because there was so much to think about.

His second year wasn't any better. How could he have been so stupid as to not wonder why no one in the castle couldn't figure out that there was a basilisk lurking in the castle? When it came to petrification you had two choices: gorgons or basilisks. Harry had learned that from Professor Lupin in his Third Year. The fact that all of Hagrid's roosters had been killed should have been a dead give-away. Since Harry was pretty sure Snape and Dumbledore routinely scanned the minds of students given they were both practice lectiomancers. This meant they would have known Harry had heard the beast. Since they knew he was a Parselmouth ,this would again point to a basilisk.

Plus it was disturbing that there was so little response from the Ministry. All Fudge had done was roll in, arrest Hagrid and called it good. Why hadn't there been more of a general outcry from the public? Certainly there had to be plenty of families worried their children were in danger. Given the vitriol directed towards him over the years, Harry couldn't see one arrest being enough to placate the general population. So perhaps somehow they hadn't known?

While it had worked out for him, Harry now had to wonder why Lucius Malfoy brought Dobby with him. Given how house-elves could pop in when summoned, why not just do that? How convenient that Malfoy Senior had brought Dobby with him which allowed Harry the opportunity to trick the elf out of Malfoy's employ. He couldn't see any reason for Malfoy to do this unless all of Dobby's actions were someone some deep ploy of Lucius. The other option (not believable either) is Dumbledore had enough control to somehow get Malfoy to bring the elf. Yet again this made little sense given what happened the next term.

The events at the Department of Mysteries had certainly cast his third year into new light. Even with the Dumbledore's mind-magicks in place, Harry remembered how disgruntled he had felt that with all of Dumbledore's titles and power as Chief Warlock and Supreme Mugwump, he had

suddenly '_unable to stop the Ministry at this time_' even in the face of multiple witnesses to Pettigrew being alive.

If Harry hadn't thought to call Dobby in desperation to see if there was a way the elf could get them out of the locked infirmary, he was sure that Sirius would have been given the Dementor's kiss that very night. Having Dobby available to help him save serious made Harry think that Dumbledore either hadn't thought Harry would think of it or hadn't been involved with Dobby's release.

Having Sirius locked up without a trial had been bad enough. Allowing him to be arrested when there was a "Kiss on sight" order without doing anything to help was very telling. Harry saw now that if Sirius had been kissed, Dumbledore probably would have been so apologetic and probably would bemoan his lack of being able to go against the law. Hah! The entire Order of the Phoenix was a testament to the idea that Dumbledore did what he wanted to regardless of the legality. If Dumbledore had wanted to save Sirius, he had plenty of people he could have called to ensure his safety.

Just like it seemed he had people willing to kill Sirius for him.

Since Dumbledore hadn't called in someone like Shacklebolt and Tonks to guard Sirius, Harry had to conclude getting Sirius out of the picture was important to the Headmaster. For that matter why not call on Mad-Eye Moody! Harry could see most aurors, even those loyal to Fudge, not wanting to cross Mad-Eye. With the ability to send a message via a Patronus, the floo and house-elves able to take messages, Dumbledore just seemed to wash his hands of Sirius when he had plenty of options that Harry could finally see.

However this did bring up a disquieting point: why had Hermione been given a Time-Turner? He simply couldn't see such a powerful tool be giving to a 15 year old just so she could take more classes. Was Dumbledore setting her up for something? Was it simply a matter to ingratiate Hermione more into Dumbledore's debt?

It did make a twisted sort of sense. Of all of Harry's friends, Hermione might be the one to see through all the lies and deceptions. Maybe the Old Man was just making sure that Hermione would not even think of Dumbledore as the man behind all of the lies. Since she wasn't one to question authority already, this seemed to be the best answer. That's what Harry kept telling himself. He already was suspicious of Ron; he didn't want to both his friends to be potential spies against him.

Harry looked out his window. He could see some of the minor security prisoners getting some exercise in the yard. If by exercise you could count shuffling around aimlessly. Harry shook his head. Azkaban made no sense. Given what he saw of how it had affected Hagrid, magically resistant as he was, Harry wondered how anyone could see Azkaban being used for anything other than torturing _all _prisoners into insanity. Given that minor infractions which might land one in Azkaban for a year still got you exposed to the Dementors didn't really seem fair. Why should someone like Mundungus Fletcher get the same Dementor treatment for petty theft as mass murderer Bellatrix LeStrange?

Harry shook his head and went back to his pacing. It was just another thing about the Wizarding Britain which made no sense whatever.

His fourth year seemed to be filled with problems. Why was he forced to compete in the Tri-Wizard tournament? As a minor he should have had permission from his guardians and no one had ever said anything about asking the Dursleys. While he could see why Dumbledore wouldn't bring it up, why hadn't McGonagall or at the very least Madame Maxine and Karkaroff if only to keep him from competing?

Harry had to wonder about his performance in the Third Task. Why had he gone through with it? The tournament rules stated one had to make a good effort. Yet he could have easily stayed with Fleur after he saved her from the vines and given up at that point. What had possessed him to try to win a tournament he had no stake in? This lapse in judgement was especially glaring considering how much he wanted Cedric to win it.

Again Dumbledore was the obvious answer but one Harry couldn't go for completely. Maybe Mad-Eye Barty had somehow not only committed him to the tournament but added a compulsion as well. As with Quirrell, Harry couldn't see Barty Crouch Jr. being able to fool Dumbledore for a year, especially if the Old Man liked to poke around the memories of his staff as much as he did his students.

This made Harry wonder if Dumbledore had wanted for Voldemort to be resurrected. It sounded daft but the Headmaster had gotten a lot of power from defeating Grindelwald. Maybe Dumbledore felt better prepared to take on the Dark Lord after Voldemort lost his body back in 1981. Maybe Dumbledore felt it was important for Voldemort to be embodied given the prophecy.

Of course this begged the big question. One which had been plaguing Harry for days. What could the Tricksters' Gambit mean? Harry punched his fist into the palm of his other hand. It was maddening! Voldemort! Dumbledore! And somehow he had to thread between them both? How? How?

Harry stopped and walked over to the door after hearing a quivering wail. He looked up and down the corridor as much as his cell door allowed him. He had begun to think that when he was angry, he must be broadcasting something. This wasn't the first time he'd gotten angry and the nearby prisoners had responded. Luckily it seemed to keep the Dementors away. They were said to feed on fear but apparently rage wasn't something they liked.

Harry sighed and moved away from the door and began to pace once more. There were so many things to wonder about. Like why did Voldemort go through such a convoluted plot to get Harry if he just needed his blood? He could have easily gotten the blood by having Barty contrive an accident and then gather up the blood. Merlin knew how often Harry got into accidents at school!

Why go through the trouble of bringing Harry to Voldemort if it would alert Magical Britain to Voldemort's return? Harry had seen how few Death Eaters remained; it would take time for them to grow back into the fierce fighting force they had been. Was Dumbledore's hand in that as well or had losing his body warped Voldemort's mind?

Or was Voldemort actually like some bad vaudeville villain who needed to gloat at the hero while revealing his plan? Harry snorted at this thought but it made just about as much sense as any other reason he could think of. Of course this was the wizard who had taken a name 'flight from death' so maybe it wasn't that farfetched.

It would just his luck that he had a deranged "It's for your own good!" wizard on one side and a deranged evil wizard who seemed to have leapt from the screen of a very bad movie on the other.

Then again, so far, his life had been one clichéd bit of fuck-all from the moment his parent's died.

**XxXxX**

**A/N**: Really trying to break up the exposition. I've also decided that it isn't necessary to pick apart all the inconsistencies JKR left us with. Just enough to show how Harry is seeing both Voldemort and Dumbledore.

**Time**: Time acts differently in different parts of the Nine Worlds. Given how in places like Müspelheim, time like the law of gravity, is more of a suggestion than something linear. Depending on how things are done, time can pass slowly or quickly between Realms like Asgard/Vanaheim and Midgard.

**Magical Beings & Deities Introduced**

Geirahöd: Semi-retired Valkyrie due to having small children. If you don't know what a "ululating cry" is, watch any fight scene in Xena: Warrior Princess. You'll get the idea.

The Norns: Just a reminder, these are the Nordic versions of the Fates.

Midgardian: Name used for normal humans of Earth.


	6. Dark Reflections - Part II

**DISCLAIMER THE FIRST: **_It is by JKR's writing alone I set my mind in motion. It is by the grace of coffee that thoughts acquire speed, the back acquires strains, the strains become a warning. The warning is that I make no money from this. It is by JKR's writing alone I set my mind in motion._

**PITHY STATEMENT RELATING TO THIS CHAPTER**: "_Surprise is the greatest gift which life can grant us._" **Boris Pastenak** – Russian poet, novelist, and literary translator (1890-1960)

**LAST UPDATED**: 02-09-2015

**XxXxX**

**CHAPTER SIX – DARK REFLECTIONS – PART II**

**XxXxX**

**CELL 13, D-BLOCK**, **AZKABAN, NORTH SEA - ?**

Harry opened his eyes. Somehow it seemed like he could tell he had been heading for a dozy of a nightmare and woken himself up. Harry itched for a bit (Sirius's comments about the maddening fleas really made sense to him now) before standing, feeling his muscles ache from sitting in the same position for so long.

Harry had often fallen asleep while meditating. Sadly if he tired to meditate on his pallet, he'd fall asleep before getting anything useful done. So he had taken to doing it sitting lotus-style against the wall. The problem was he still would fall asleep after a few hours of meditation while he ordered and sifted through his memories. The end result was waking stiff and often cramping off and on for hours.

While Harry felt comfortable, his breath was visible in the cold air. As cold as Azkaban was, it still _was_ summer. Being able to see his breath usually meant one thing. Sure enough, when Harry looked towards the cell door, there was the cloaked figure of his would-be tormentor. Once again Harry was surprised at how unaffected he was by the Dementor considering how bad they used to affect him. Gone where the cries of his mother, begging Voldemort to spare his young life. Gone were the memories of the green flash of the _Avada Kedavra_ curse which had taken his mother from him. Only in dreams did he see those now.

Harry cast about for an explanation and all he could come up with was the change in his mental shields. Just like at the Department of Mysteries and the infirmary at Hogwarts, his mental shields had become a veritable fortress of solid ice. Behind those mental walls his mind was clear. Even the unearthly cold the Dementors generated didn't bother him overly much.

Harry looked at the Dementor and felt his anger at them returning. He hated what the creature represented. The innate cruelty of the Magical world which would toss all their criminals into the clutches of such demons! Even though there were many who assuredly deserved this fate, like Bellatrix LeStrange, it didn't make it right. Harry's teeth ground together at another example of the callousness of the Wizarding World. How any just person could allow a fellow human, no matter how evil, be fed to these foul things?

Suddenly the disgust Harry felt rose in him like bile and he found himself suddenly leaping forward. The Dementor seemed surprised, if that was possible, but before it could react Harry's fist flew through the bars of his cell door window and into whatever lay hidden beneath the cowl of its cloak. Harry wasn't sure what he hit but he had the satisfaction of watching the Dementor fly back and hit the opposite wall.

Harry looked down in surprise as he found his fist covered in a thick glove of ice.

Outside his cell, a high-pitched keen seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once. Suddenly the hall was filled with odd screams and shrieks as the other prisoners responded to the Dementor's cry. Harry watched as the Dementor lay on the floor for a bit as the unearthly cry continued over the shouts of his fellow inmates. Finally the wailing ended and the Dementor rose and glided away much faster than Harry remembered ever seeing a Dementor move.

"Yeah! You better run, you horrid thing! Just remember there is a lot more where that came from! Tell your buddies that Harry James Potter won't take any shitte from the likes of you!" Harry yelled after it. Somehow the sheer bravado of this brought a chuckle to his lips which grew into a roar of laugher. He held on to the bars and just laughed at another instance of absurdity which was his so called life.

The sounds of it carried down the cell block and one by one the shouts and cries of the other prisoners fell silent. In every cell the sound of laughter, of happy care-free laughter, felt like a breath of fresh summer wind. For many the feeling was the first pleasant thought they had had in years and in the brief moment something like hope flared in their hearts again.

**XxXxX**

**DRACHENTANZ GASTHŐF, TROLLKARISTAD, NORWAY – JUNE 8****th**** 1996 – NOON**

Regina Heimark sipped her gillywater and looked around in amusement. It seemed that most of her fellow Durmstrang students had finally calmed down from the earlier chaos over the delay in getting home after the end of term. It had been amusing to watch them gripe and complain. So unlike their usual cool and unflappable air Durmstrang sought to teach all its students. Regina couldn't understand why so many complained. Another day in Trollkaristad wasn't that much of a cross to bear. So many of her friends were ones she only saw at school and Regina knew that was common throughout the student body.

Still, Regina was impressed that an extra credit project by a group of Seventh Years could go so wrong that it affected the wards of their school. Supposedly that night, with everyone back in the school, the wards would be reset and they would recognize the faculty and the students again. Only the departing Seventh Years were exempt and all of them had already departed.

Well all of them except for the Seventh Years responsible. Headmistress Beznănor had kept them back to help. Regina was certain that help was also paired with some painful punishments for all the embarrassment they students had caused the school. Durmstrang had enough bad press with Headmaster Karkaroff being found murdered even if those in the darker houses fully expected it given the news coming out of Britain.

"Regina! There you are!"

Regina turned and smiled and the blonde girl rushing towards her. Helga Annjedóttir had been her friend for almost as long as she could remember. While Helga's family was Swedish and Regina's German, both families had been in business together and bound by trade for years. Both families lived on the shores of the Baltic Sea and between the floo and the swift magical ships at their disposal, both girls saw each other quite often.

The fact that both girls spoke both German and Swedish helped the girls network in a school often divided by language. Helga also spoke Norwegian well just as Regina did with Polish. Both girls had no problem with Danish. This allowed them to cast their net of acquaintances widely in a school where having people to watch your back was held in high premium.

"I half-way expected you to be running in some last broom races today," Helga said as she sat down. She was speaking in her native Swedish. The two preferred to talk in their native languages so that the other could get practice with it.

Regina shrugged and took another sip of her gillywater before answering, "There weren't enough witches doing so to make it fun. I can wait till I get home so I won't have to put up with all the male posturing."

Helga snorted at this, "You'd think by now they would understand you can beat any wizard on a broom in a fair race."

Regina shrugged again, "I've given up expecting most wizards to see the light. I take comfort in the look on their faces when I defeat them."

Helga laughed at this, "Well I figured if you weren't there, I'd find you here in our little nook."

Regina nodded. Between her red hair and piercing green eyes and ample curves, Regina was constantly having to fend off boys trying to chat her up. Helga own good looks made it difficult for the two friends to spend any time without someone trying once again to score a date. Luckily her favorite spot in the pub kept them out of sight to most of the other patrons.

"So do you think you'll be able to come over next week? She may be a little harridan but my sister's birthday parties are always fun." Helga asked.

Regina frowned, "I'm not sure. My mother's last letter was…odd. So until I get home, well I'm not going to make any promises."

Helga nodded, "Well you are almost legal, at least age wise. I know my older sister said how mother get all weird on her when she was our age. You'll be the first to leave the nest so maybe she's getting antsy about it."

Regina thought about that for a bit, "You could be right. Never mind we still have two years of school to get through. I've heard Hogwarts has a pretty efficient rumor mill but they don't have the factions we do. Running around dropping my panties is not high on my list of things to do, legal or not. I really don't need the rumors."

Helga nodded at this. Regina was quite beautiful but mostly was uninterested in dating. This had caused rumors of her sexuality. In truth Regina had seen too many relationships gone sour and the terrible consequences it could have in the cut-throat world that was Durmstrang.

Suddenly Helga giggled, "Then again we are getting at the age were there might be more truth and than rumors bandied about the dorm. There _are_ quite a few strapping lads I wouldn't mind trying out before being the potential of being trapped into another boring, pureblood marriage."

Regina smiled at this even as she and her friend didn't want to think of the sad truth of it, "True. Even so, I think I'll wait. It's not like I'm going anywhere soon."

**OoOoO**

Regina wandered through the old house being at once diligent and bored at the same time. Her family owned the property but hadn't had much of a use for it since her great-aunt had died suddenly of Bowden's Malady. So far the family hadn't been able to decide what to do with it. So it fell to Regina to inspect it whenever she came to Trollkaristad weekend.

Regina never found anything of note and why would she? Her family had plenty of witches and wizards who were good with wards and had plenty of money to hire someone even if they didn't. Except for the occasional doxie nest (who somehow seemed impervious to Wizarding wards) there was much of anything to find but dust which she would collect with a handy spell her grandmother had taught her before banishing it all before she left.

Still, she did the job if only because she felt the better she knew the place, the better she could hide things if she decided to bring a boy here. While what she had told Helga was true, it didn't mean she wasn't thinking about boys. Regina always like to keep her options open and having one's own place for a rendezvous point was too good to pass up.

"I'm glad you are such a dutiful daughter; it makes things so much easier."

Regina whirled at the voice behind her. At once she had her wand out in one hand and the dwarven-forged dagger in the other. It didn't matter the voice was that of a woman; Durmstrang taught one that enemies could be anyone.

The woman didn't dodge as Regina cast a mid-level curse at her. No matter her intentions, she was trespassing. To her surprise, the woman (who was wearing an odd selection of clothing and armor of all things) didn't even flinch when the spell hit her right between her rather buxom breasts.

Surprised or not, Regina quickly moved in to attack with her dagger. Unlike with the spell, the woman quickly moved to counter. Regina had been lucky to learn knife and sword play form wizards who kept to the old Prussian dueling styles. If it weren't for magic, Regina would have the dueling scars to prove it.

These skills had been a boon to her through her years at Durmstrang yet the mysterious woman was able to easily evade her strikes with the barest movement of her body.

"Good! Very nice form. Straight in and quick. Your mother will be so proud," the woman said as she leaned back just enough for Regina's knife swing to miss slitting her throat.

Regina feinted one way before casting a much darker spell at the woman. This time the woman simply batted the spell away with a casual wave of her hand.

"Now, now; no need to get nasty. I'm a friend of the family," the woman said before she suddenly burst into action so fast Regina hardly saw her move. In the blink of an eye, the woman had struck her precise blows which pushed her back, causing her to drop both her wand and dagger. A final blow brought her to her knees, gasping for breath.

"You just catch your breath and just listen. I think we've established who is in control here," the woman said in an amused voice.

"Who..who are you?" Regina finally managed to get out as she struggled to get her breathing under control.

"While who I am is a very pertinent question, the question which really defines this conversation is who _you_ are," the woman said.

"I know who I am!" Regina all but snarled. She hated feeling helpless. She hated feeling weak. It was a common thing for Durmstrang students especially since the upper years loved to make the younger students feel exactly that.

"Ah you think you do but I know for a fact you do not. You think you are Regina Heimark, daughter to a wealthy family of Purebloods. The truth is far more fantastic," the mysterious woman said.

Regina finally got her breathing under control. She looked up at the woman and suddenly wondered how she had missed it. The woman radiated power. In fact she exuded the same power Regina had felt the first time she set foot into Durmstrang. "Who are you?" Regina asked again.

The woman smiled, "As I said; I am a friend of the family. Your true family. Your real mother is an old friend of mine. Your real father as well. Your mother is a friend who incurred a debt to me in years past. To repay that debt, she had to give up her daughter. That daughter is you."

Regina blinked at this. For some reason the idea her father and mother wasn't actually her parents didn't seem so strange. For years Regina had noticed she seemed stronger, faster and more resilient than her parents and younger siblings. Her personality was very different as well.

"So are you going to tell me who you are, who I am and all that or do I need to guess?" Regina finally said.

The woman laughed, "Ah you truly are your mother's daughter, Regina. Or should I say Hilda for that is the name your mother Geirahöd gave you."

"Geirahöd?" Regina asked. The name sounded odd and yet familiar at the same time.

"Yes, Lady Geirahöd, first Spear-Chosen of the Third Wing. A warrior and good friend. Yet a brash and sometimes imprudent warrior. I saved her life and that of your father and oldest brother. In doing so, your mother incurred the debt which brought you here to Midgard," the woman said.

Midgard.

Something clicked in Regina's mind. The clothes, the armor, the power coming off the woman in waves, "You…you are from Asgard?"

The woman laughed, "Nay, not Asgard although I have spent far too much time in those lands of late. No, Geirahöd and I both hail from Vanaheim for I am Sigyn, former Battle Captain of the elite guard to Queen Freya and wife to Loptur, one time Prince of Asgard."

Regina felt as if someone had reached into her chest and grasped her heart. It would be easy to dismiss this woman's claim but the power radiating off her made that difficult. Everything about her screamed out she was far more than mere human.

No, she was a Goddess. A Goddess!

Then suddenly things clicked again. Sigyn had said her mother was from Vanaheim, that meant she wasn't human either. In a flash, so many things which had happened to her all her life began to make sense. Her feeling of being different, her strength, her magical prowess and her indomitable will not to fail.

Sigyn smiled at her, "Ah I see you are starting to grasp the mysteries of your life. Good. My time on Midgard must be brief. So hearken to my words. You are Hilda Geirahöddóttir, born of Vanaheim. You were sent to Midgard for one purpose. To live a full life so that another could take that life up. For off in Britain, an evil grows and a Champion is in need of a hiding place. For this Champion cannot stay but cannot leave either. So we must hide him in plain sight by having him take over your life. The life you have lived for him so none will suspect the ruse."

Regina blinked at this. She tried to say something but failed. Finally she was able to speak. "I don't understand, Lady Sigyn. How could a boy take over my life? And why? And what of me? Am I to die so he can take my life?"

Sigyn laughed softly, "No child. Your life must change but you have a choice. After a few of you months, you will be given the chance to either return to your family in Vanaheim or to stay on Midgard but go to some remote area. Mayhap to Vineland or the lands down below the equator. In a few years, you could retake your life back from he who must…borrow it. Or you, as I said, you could return to your real family in Vanaheim and reconnect with them. We Vanir live long and you have plenty of time to learn our ways. Your time here on Midgard will give you a unique perspective on things and serve you well back home."

Regina blinked at this but before she could say anything, Sigyn went on, "I know this is much to think on but know that great forces are in motion, greater than those of the Vanir and Asgard. You are but one of the first warriors to be put into a subtle battle. Would that it could have been otherwise but your choices have been limited by powers greater than I. While your life has been upended, know that it was done for a very good cause and directed by powers which even I bow to."

Regina nodded at this. Luckily Durmstrang taught one very quickly that those with power made others dance to their tune. Regina could only imagine what force might make one of the fabled Vanir move to their music. What could Regina do against that?

Nothing.

Sigyn looked pensive for a moment before continuing, "As for the boy, well he is a special case. Your knowledge of the Nine Realms is fragmented and mostly wrong. Your legends of my husband are often marginal at best. Loptur is not a being constrained by the limits of things like gender. While I am Loptur's wife, I am also wife to Loki even though in that guise she is as much a woman as I am and has given birth just has I have. Loki is as real as Loptur. Both are two sides of the same being. Do you understand?"

Regina nodded, "I think so. Your 'husband' is both male and female? A hermaphrodite?"

Sigyn shook her head, "Not as you would think it. While my husband can shape his form so that he could easily manifest both male and female traits at once, normally he is either male and goes by the name Loptur or goes by Loki when female. His sire is the same way; two names for each gender. It seems easier for my husband's to keep his male and female selves apart as if they were different beings. For my part, I hazard to say it is like being married to fraternal twins."

Regina thought about how odd that had to be for the goddess in front of her. What would it be like to be married to a man who could become enough of a woman to have children? "I take it this boy who is to assume my life can do the same? Shift into a female form, I mean?"

Sigyn smiled, "Of course he can, Loki is his mother although he does not now this yet."

"Who is this boy?" Regina asked.

"Someone you undoubtedly have heard of. Harry Potter; the Boy-Who-Lived," Sigyn replied.

Regina's eyes went wide, "No way!"

**XxXxX**

**CELL 13, D-BLOCK**, **AZKABAN, NORTH SEA - ?**

Time passed. To Harry, that's about all he could say about Azkaban. Meal times seemed to come at odd times so he couldn't judge time by that. Plus Harry knew better than to expect "three squares" one could expect in Her Majesties jails. Also his aunt's love of Yank crime shows and spy movies provided another possible explanation: they were varying the meal times to purposely mess with his sense of time.

He knew a lot, if not all, depended on Neville now. Hermione could never stand against Dumbledore's authority and less now if she was as injured as badly as Pomfrey had implied. Ron was probably a basket case and Ginny's temper would keep her from making the cool, rational arguments needed to go against Dumbledore's will to get him some help.

Harry wondered about Luna; the Quibbler was widely seen as a joke, but he knew just like many tabloids in the Muggle world, it was widely read in Magical Britain. Could Luna help him? He knew she would try. He hastily shoved down the memory of the feeling of her lips upon his. Thinking of happy things made Azkaban worse even if he didn't have to worry about those memories being sucked away by the Dementors.

He knew he had one thing going for him; most people underestimated Neville Longbottom. So he should be able to slip under everyone's notice and hopefully get to Tracey or Daphne. Plus while his Gran was overbearing and cold, Harry knew she wouldn't stand for him to be locked in Azkaban without a trial. If no one else but the Longbottom's knew what had happened to him, he felt he had a chance.

Though some days this was cold comfort. Harry had already had to endure repeated visits from Auror Smith and others. He'd been rudely awakened twice by them 'tossing his cell' looking for contraband. Harry's jaw still hurt from the cuff he'd taken when he had coolly pointed out that the only one he had come in contact with (besides the Dementor he'd hit) was them so any contraband would have to be brought in by them.

Harry figured that with his lack of becoming as wretched as the other high-security prisoners, whoever was behind throwing him into Azkaban had decided to take a more active role. His food got worse (if possible) and he was kept in his cell when the others were taken out to be cleaned. Not that Harry relished being hosed down given the yells which filtered back up the corridor but it would be nice to be clean(ish) if only for a little while.

Yet Harry tried to keep his focus. When not sorting his new batch of memories, Harry kept himself busy in two ways. The first was to continue to try and keep himself as fit as he could. However it wasn't nearly as fun as the second thing: practicing his wandless magic. He had always thought that magic by inmates was impossible in Azkaban but he now knew there weren't any wards against it. The Dementors saw to it that it was rare that any prisoner could be coherent long enough to do much to say nothing of trying wandless magic. Shielded behind his somehow strengthened occlumency barriers, Harry found that he had no such problems.

So in the dim flickering torchlight, Harry trained on how to use this magic long into the night. It helped him sleep sounder if he exhausted himself. The effect of the Dementors was lessened and his nightmares less horrific.

In sorting his memories, Harry had realized when under pressure he had already done some wandless magic. He had cast a _Lumos_ spell without his wand when the Dementors had jumped him back in Surrey and he had wandlessly summoned the glass pellets into Bellatrix's back during their fight at the Ministry.

Plus wasn't all accidental magic wandless? Why was it a child with no magical training could do it yet once they got a wand, they seemingly lost the ability? Harry didn't buy it. For the most part Harry knew that most wandless magic was based more on intent and power than anything else. It was why the two easiest things to do wandlessly was to summon and banish objects. It didn't take much more than a desire and the power to make things move. Harry felt that there was probably more that he could do if he could study but for now moving things with his magic was enough for him.

Again his love of the library back in Surrey which gave him some ideas. He had watched many a movie at the library, stealing hours in enjoyment away from the Dursleys. He'd sit for hours watching films. A librarian had once joked that it was a good thing his hair was always so messy so the headphones he had to wear didn't affect his hairdo. Thinking back to those films, Harry thought about the Star Wars films. He was struck by the fight between Darth Vader and Luke Skywalker in _The Empire Strikes Back_. Vader had used the Force to toss things at Luke while he dueled and that had always struck Harry as awesome.

Harry himself had done something similar against Bellatrix but he wanted to do more. He had been able to intercept Bellatrix's killing curse only because he had been expecting it and was ready. Could he use wandless magic to throw something in the way of a curse if caught unprepared? He remembered Sirius telling him stories of his father and how James Potter had been a professional dueler for awhile before the war really heated up. James had used transfigurations and summoning in a duel. Sirius had said that a messy battlefield was a good battlefield because there were so many things to transfigure or banish.

Harry wished he had his wand because he wanted to try and cast spells while banishing or summoning objects at the same time. If he could throw things at a foe while sending a spell at the same time, it would be tougher for his opponent to dodge both. Plus, even if he missed with the object he threw at them, he could later summon it back like he had done against Bellatrix. He knew most wizards and witches rarely used wandless magic, but Harry wondered why since it seemed to him a great way to block spells.

Of course few had the power to do so and Harry at least knew he had that power. The question Harry had was where this power came from? Was he naturally powerful? This seemed a likely answer given even when his magic had been bound, he had driven off the horde of Dementors in his Third Year. But did this innate power come by genetics along with the Potter family magicks or did it have to do with the odd blue skin he had begun to manifest?

Regardless of the why and how of the power, Harry wasn't going to waste it. So his hours where often spent banishing and summoning his water cup back and forth. He also began to focus on just holding it steady in the air and the moving it quickly one way or the other.

During this time, Harry had to wonder if his proficiency with wandless magic was due to his growing up at the Dursleys. Wizards like Ron grew up with stories saying wandless magic was rare even if there was no reason given. To Harry, wandless magic just seem one of those weird things made possible due to magic. He wished he was back in the Room of Requirements with the D.A. to have Muggleborn and Purebloods try some wandless magic. Harry was all but certain the Muggleborn could probably manifest some elements of wandless magic.

Hopefully he might get the chance to get back to Hogwarts to test this.

**OoOoO**

One advantage of prison's lack of anything to do mean that Harry had little to distract him after he had exhausted his magical core for the day. That allowed him the opportunity to pore over his situation. While unexpected, Harry knew his stay in Azkaban was a clue to what was going on. His dorm mates back in Gryffindor had been normal boys and had often spoken of morbid things and Azkaban was a topic which had come up a few times over the years, especially after Hagrid had been sent there Third Year.

From those stories, Harry knew it was practically unheard of that a minor to be sent to here. While he felt the Wizarding world was crap on psychiatry even they knew exposure to the Dementor's on a developing mind and magic was a bad thing. The fact that he was in a cell in Azkaban told him that someone wanted to break him. It was the only answer which made sense given how being kept in Azkaban meant he was out of the public eye. With the charges against him, Harry would have expected another show trial before the Wizengamot to bolster Fudge's previous claims that Harry was deranged.

This made one kind of sense. With Fudge being proven wrong about Voldemort's return, he might still get some mileage out of discrediting Harry. On the other hand, it was possible that between Fudge and Dumbledore, they might keep Voldemort's return a secret. The aurors and the Order where under the thumbs of the two wizards after all.

Keeping Harry locked up kept him away from the press. Harry figured that this was Fudge's rationale. But Harry would bet all of the coming year's Hogsmeade visits (if he got them) that Dumbledore was hoping a stay in Azkaban would weaken his mental shields allowing Dumbledore to read his mind with no one the wiser.

Thinking of the prophecy reminded Harry that he was still destined to be stuck between two powerful wizards. That much was certain but who would win was not. While he was the Champion, the prophecy had no hint how things might end other than whatever the Trickster's Gambit was would affect them all.

It did make him wonder if Dumbledore had read the prophecy in the same way he did. Harry had often marveled how witches and wizards could be blind-sided by certain things which seemed obvious to Muggleborn or raised. Hermione had often commented that much of the Magical world's inability to cope with the modern world was due to Magicals simply couldn't conceive of doing things without magic and thus just couldn't conceptualize how Muggle could do anything without it.

Did Dumbledore see Harry as a weapon against Voldemort? Given that Snape had heard a fake prophecy, it would seem so. By leaking it to Voldemort, Dumbledore would force the Champion into the open by seeing who Voldemort attacked. Of course just because Voldemort attacked him didn't mean that Neville might not still be the Champion. Who knew if the mark had to be a physical one like his scar. It would seem quite the trick if Neville was the hero of the story all along.

Harry had to snort at that. Funny for everyone except himself, of course.

Given the nature of the prophecy, it seemed logical that Dumbledore would see Harry (or Neville) as an enemy and so he'd take certain steps to protect himself from that. It might explain why Dumbledore had bound his magic and had Snape rape his mind. On top of his upbringing at the Dursleys, running on half-magic and a mind filled with Snape's damage would hardly make Harry much of a threat.

The one thing Harry had a hard time with was how Dumbledore had created the Boy-Who-Lived legend in the first place. While Wizarding Britain turned on him just as easily as his fellow students did, he still _was_ seen as a legend. So why build Harry up if he was a prophesied enemy? Was it something he had done early on and regretted later? Or was there more that Harry didn't know and thus couldn't ask the right questions to get to the answer?

After a few days, it came to Harry how often he had been portrayed as 'going Dark' or being mentally unbalanced. Maybe Rita Skeeter wasn't just a hack writer but working for Dumbledore to push the idea that Harry wasn't all he was cracked up to be. The Old Man could be setting the stage so he could claim Harry had been finally driven over the edge by the fight with Voldemort and had to be put down 'for the Greater Good' which did seem to be his favorite ploy. So with Skeeter's articles, people were primed to see him as a tragic character who Dumbledore had to deal with. Once again Dumbledore would come out smelling like a hero.

Harry brooded about this last bit for quite some time. If someone in the Order had killed Sirius, it wouldn't surprise Harry that Dumbledore had plans for some of his friends to be killed to make it look like Harry had gone dark. Once again the words the image of Riddle had said in his mind came back to him, '_You were always the Boy-Destined-To-Die_!' It sickened him to think that Dumbledore might have manipulated circumstances which pushed him to form the D.A. just so there would be convenient targets on the final day for him to frame Harry for their murders.

**OoOoO**

Keys jangled at the door which caused Harry's eyes to fly open. Merlin! He'd fallen asleep meditating again!

"Potter, wake up! You have a visitor!" yelled one of the aurors through the cell door window. Harry tensed and his magic hummed as he readied himself. He firmed up his mental shields and once again wished he had something more than a water cup be used as weapon if he needed to defend himself. The last two "visitors" had roughed him up rather badly. Yet when the door opened, Harry looked up to see a middle-aged man in professional robes over a business suit enter.

The man looked down at Harry for a minute and then smiled and held out his hand. "Harry James Potter? I'm Martin Creswell and on behalf of House Longbottom, I'm here to represent you and get you out of here."

Harry stood and shook hands with the man. Neville had come through at last!

**XxXxX**

**A/N**: Read various things about Durmstrang. From the topography listed in canon, many point to Norway as where Durmstrang is. I also felt that a school taken from such a wide range of people (Scandinavia to the Germanic areas to include Eastern Europe; presumably Russia has its own school) would have factions based on language regions. Although the same would apply to Beauxbatons given how you'd have students from the Low Countries, probably some from Denmark, Germany, Switzerland, Spain and Italy to include many of the Mediterranean Islands. One also would assume that the there is a similar school in Istanbul which draws from the Balkans, parts of the Middle East, Crimea and Georgia.

**Regina Heimark/Hilda Geirahöddóttir**: As mentioned in this chapter, Harry is in a bind. He needs to stay in England yet there are forces which are at a point where they might see him as too much of a threat and move to take him out. So how can Harry go to Hogwarts and yet not be seen as being at Hogwarts? The plot has thickened.

**Gender Identity**: Not to jump ahead but I know a lot of people freaked out over the "gender unspecific" Harry thing and many probably haven't even read the first chapter because of this. I'm working towards something I believe Harry would jump at: a mostly fresh start. By taking on the guise of Regina Heimark, he can live a bit without a lot of preconceptions. People will have to take the time to get to know him. Plus, people will react to him differently so as to give him a new perspective on things. It goes without saying (so of course I'm saying it) that Harry will have to adjust to "wearing" a woman's body.

**Non-English Words**  
><span>Drachentanz Gasthöf<span> = Dancing Dragon Inn/Pub, the Durmstrang equivalent of the Three Broomsticks

Trollkaristad = Wizard City, the Durmstrang equivalent of Hogsmeade


End file.
